#supersoldiers and panic attacks

[chaossmagic]

sometimes i randomly think about how comics bucky is 5'9 and how adorable that makes him next to his big beefy supersoldier boyfriend steve, perfectly sized to fit under his arm when they're snuggling on the couch or cuddling up together in bed. tiny pocket sized bucky standing on his tiptoes to smooch his big tall star-spangled boyfriend. steve covering bucky's whole body with his own like a human weighted blanket when they make out. steve lying right across him exactly like a human weighted blanket when bucky has nightmares or panic attacks and needs deep pressure/warmth to self-regulate and calm down. TINY ASSASSIN BUCKY AND BIG BUFF CAPTAIN AMERICA STEVE-

[sergeantbuckybarnes]

you belong with me (part 1) // fred weasley

Summary: You’re stubborn, so when your best friend tries to convince you that Bucky Barnes isn’t the right guy for you, you try to prove him wrong. In the process, you end up in a place you thought only existed in books, where you meet the one.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader (eventually)

Word count: 3.8k

Warnings: unrequited love, bit of angst, panic attack

A/N: As always, remember English is not my first language. Thanks to @error501beta​ for proofreading this!

ＢＥＦＯＲＥ　ＹＯＵ　ＲＥＡＤ： This is a Marvel x Harry Potter fanfiction. You’re 17 and you are Wanda sister. For the purposes of this fic the year on the MCU is 2017. Civil War events have not happened and everyone lives in the Avengers Compound. The year on Harry Potter is 1994, around The Goblet of Fire.

main masterlist

“He’s so hot,” you sighed dreamily. Steve and Bucky were sparring in the gym a few feet away from you. It had become a habit for you at this point to watch the two supersoldiers train, if only to discreetly check out the brunet.

You weren't sure when your infatuation with Bucky had started, but one day you found you couldn't take your gaze off of him whenever he was in the same room. You weren't sure if the older man had noticed your lingering stares, but if he had, he had never mentioned it.

“And yet way too old for you.” The voice startled you, and you jumped, diverting your focus away from the two supersoldiers and toward a much younger man with a sly smirk on his face.

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “What do you want, Peter?”

“Dreaming about your knight in shining armor again?”

Now, if anyone knew about your crush, it was Peter Parker. Much to your dismay. Peter was quite insightful; it only took him half an hour in the same room with you to figure out your crush on the winter soldier. And boy, did he enjoy teasing you about it. That's what best friends do, right?

“You know, you should get over it already. It’s not like he’s gonna notice you anyway.”

“Why is that?” You asked, annoyed.

Peter was about to laugh, but then saw your serious expression and decided it was best if he didn't. “Come on, Y/N/N. It's amusing to see you yearning for him, but you don't really think you have a chance, do you?”

“Is he too good for me, or what? Is he out of my league? Am I not good enough?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” Peter clarified quickly. He had no intention of offending you. “But you’re 17, and he’s like…” He paused for a moment, mentally calculating the supersoldier’s age. “A hundred years old?” His statement came across as more of an inquiry.

“Alright. First and foremost, I'll be 18 in a few months. Second, he was 28 when HYDRA captured him and, considering he spent most of his time in a freezer, he didn't age all that much.”

“He’s still 11 years older.”

You shook your head. "I don't see the issue."

Peter gazed at you for a few seconds, trying to figure out whether you were serious or joking. “He probably thinks of you as his little sister.” He didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but it was obvious Bucky Barnes didn’t return your affections.

“Then I’ll dress more maturely, “ you shot back.

“It’s not the clothes, Y/N. It's the age difference. It's not like you can magically become older by snapping your fingers.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, knowing by the smirk on your face that he had unintentionally given you an idea.

Peter was well aware of your’s and Wanda's talents. And, while it was obvious that the older Maximoff was more powerful, you were also an exceptionally gifted witch. He'd seen you accomplish amazing things, but he wasn't sure whether age manipulation was one of them.

“I can create an illusion,” You began, drawing out the strategy in your brain. “I’ll make him believe that I’m older, that way I’ll catch his attention.”

Illusion manipulation was one of your favorite abilities. Mostly because it had the potential to get you out of trouble. You could manipulate people's perceptions of what they saw, heard, touched, smelled, and tasted. The plethora of effects you could achieve had so many uses, such as confusing targets, hiding and masking objects or places, leading targets to inadvertently harm one another, and so on. Yet you still hadn’t reached your full potential.

But you weren’t fighting aliens or HYDRA agents, you were just trying to get a guy, and you were powerful enough to manipulate the senses to the point the illusion was indistinguishable from reality to the target. Which in this case was Bucky.

“So you’re gonna mess with his mind?” You were pulled back to reality by Peter's voice. You had nearly forgotten he was there for a second. “I think the poor guy has been through enough brainwashing. Don’t you?”

Of course, you were aware of what Bucky had gone through. He still had nightmares about HYDRA’s torture. So Peter was probably correct, messing with his mind wasn't the best way to win him over.

“Even then, you’ll still be 17; you’ll be lying to both him and yourself,” Peter added.

“Well… what if I don’t have to lie? What if I actually can age up?”

Your friend looked at you, puzzled. “You can do that?”

“Not with my magic,” you grinned, “but there's something that might help.”

It was true, you couldn't use your magic to age up a few years, at least not that you knew of. It would be a lot easier, but you'd have to ask Wanda, who would want to know why you were asking. Then you'd tell her, and she'd try to talk you out of it. So you’d have to take the difficult path.

“So… what are you gonna do?”

“Thor brought some cool Asgardian stuff yesterday. And by cool, I mean magical. I’m sure there’s something there that can help,” you explained. “And if that doesn’t work I have a Plan B.”

“You really have everything figured out, huh?” Peter looked at you in disbelief. “The Asgardian stuff is in Mr. Stark’s laboratory. How are you planning to get in?”

“At night, of course.”

Your sister knew something was up. You’d been reserved all night, and that's what was giving you away. Wanda knew you like the back of her hand, and when you were quiet, she knew you were up to no good.

Throughout dinner, you and Peter had been exchanging glances. He’d obviously wanted to sell you out, but your murderous stare had stopped him. Also, Peter considered himself a good friend, and he didn’t want to betray your trust, but he also knew you were bound to get into trouble.

It wasn't until Wanda had knocked on your bedroom door late at night that you realized how obvious you had been, and you only hoped the rest of the team hadn’t caught on to your weird behavior.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Your sister sat beside you on the bed. You tried to keep your cool as you looked at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tried, but the look Wanda gave you was unimpressed.

“Is this about Bucky?” Her question caught you off guard. Did she know? “You can't fool me, honey; I'm your sister. And you’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

“Stop getting inside my head,” you chastised her. You hated when she did that. “It’s a huge invasion of privacy, y’know?”

“You never tell me anything. You’ve left me with no choice.” When you didn’t reply, Wanda spoke again. “There’s nothing to feel ashamed of. It’s totally normal for an older guy to catch your eye when you’re young.”

You got off the bed and looked at her, a scowl on your face. “Why do you keep treating me like a child?” You demanded, your voice raising. “I’m not a kid. I’ll be 18 in a couple of months.”

Wanda remained irritatingly calm despite your obvious frustration. “I know, Y/N.”

“Then why is it so difficult for everyone to see that a relationship between me and him isn’t impossible!?”

Exasperated, the Scarlet Witch sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She had never pictured herself in this predicament. Wanda was more than just your older sister; she was also the only mother figure you have ever known. Yet she was certain your late mother would have been better at this conversation than she would be.

“Look, Y/N. No one is saying it is impossible in the long run but as of right now it is. You know everything Bucky has been through.”

“How come everyone uses that as an excuse to tell me to back off?”

“It’s not an excuse-”

“It is! I'm sure no one would object if I were your age.”

“Oh, honey, I know how tough it must be to be young and surrounded by older people. Especially men. But I also know there's someone else out there who's perfect for you, and that person isn't Bucky.” She stood and approached you, standing in the middle of the room, brow still furrowed by the conversation. She hesitantly wrapped an arm around you in a side embrace, which you did not return. “Why don't you go to bed and we can pick up where we left off in the morning?” She suggested, “Perhaps we can go to that coffee place you like?”

You turned to face your sister. The rational part of you understood that Wanda meant well. But you were stubborn, and irritated by everyone treating you like a child. You’d never cared what others thought of you; growing up in an orphanage had given you tough skin. But it hurt that you didn't even feel like an adult in Wanda's eyes. She was your big sister, your mentor. She was everything you aspired to be. But she didn't consider you an equal; just the little sister she had to protect.

The silence became uncomfortably quiet. Wanda remained at your side, waiting for a response.

"I'm helping Peter study for his test tomorrow. Maybe another time."

You gave in to your petty side. Wanda's face dropped, and her hopeful smile faded. It made your stomach turn, and you had to look away.

"Okay," she murmured and kissed your temple softly. "Goodnight."

She was halfway out the door when she turned to you. “I love you, Y/N. And I want the best for you. Always. Please remember that.”

And then she left the room.

The conversation left a bittersweet taste, but you tried to block it out. You were determined to get what you wanted, and no one was going to stop you from getting it.

The lights were off and the compound was quiet. The hallways, living room, and kitchen were empty, providing you with the perfect opportunity to make your way to Tony’s lab.

“Where are you going?” The sudden voice in the darkness made you jump. You turned on your heel, only to face the man who had been taking over your dreams for the past few months.

You were like a deer caught in the headlights. Bucky catching you was the last thing you expected. You had checked the time before leaving your bedroom; it was 3:00 in the morning, so why was he wandering around the compound at this hour?

The winter soldier kept staring at you, waiting for you to respond. “Where are you going?” you decided to shoot back, and a light chuckle left his mouth.

Now that you thought about it, this was the first time Bucky and you had been alone in the same room. With another avenger always around, you couldn't ever enjoy the man’s presence just for yourself.

“Looking for trouble?”

You put your hand on your chest, pretending to be offended. "Do you really think so little of me?"

“I may not have been here that long, but I know you have a habit of getting into trouble.”

‘Does that mean he has noticed me?’

“I don’t look for trouble. Trouble finds me.”

“Of course,” he let out another chuckle. A wave of giddiness rushed through you, he found you funny.

“You gonna rat me out?”

Bucky looked at you, weighing his options. You looked back at him expectantly, with a pleading expression on your face. If he told Tony or someone else that you'd been wandering the compound after midnight with ulterior motives, you'd have them on your back the next night and wouldn't be able to carry out your plan.

After what seemed like a lifetime, he spoke again. “It would be our little secret.”

His words made you smile, and you could feel your stomach turn. You were about to thank him when he interrupted you. “But if there's any damage done in this building tomorrow morning, be sure you’re not getting away with it, kid.”

Kid. There it was, that dreadful word. ‘He probably sees you like a little sister’ Uninvited, Peter's words echoed in your mind. You felt your shoulders slump and your smile fade.

Bucky misinterpreted your expression and said, “Just promise me you’re not doing anything bad.”

“I promise, Buck.” You wanted this conversation to be over. It was only cutting you deeper and delaying your plan.

Bucky bid his farewells and returned to his room. Tears that you had been holding back ran down your face. With your sleeve, you wiped them away. “I promise that tomorrow you won’t see me as a kid anymore,” you whispered to yourself.

You received the second surprise of the night when you reached the laboratory door only to find Peter resting against the wall.

“What are you doing here?” “What took you so long?” You both asked at the same time.

“Look, even if I think this is a terrible idea and I’m still hoping you reconsider it, I’m still your best friend.” He said, “You've stood by me through all of my ups and downs, so it's only fair that I stand by you now. If you fall, I fall.”

On the spur of the moment, you dragged Peter against you, throwing your arms around him. He wrapped his arms around you just as tightly. “Thank you, Pete,” you murmured.

“What are friends for?” he said with a gentle smile as you were freed from the hug. "Now, how are you going to open the door?" he asked after you were free. You smiled at him, thrumming your fingers, as a spark of red light emerged from the palm of your hand. The sound of the lock opening with a satisfying click echoed in the empty corridor seconds later.

“Like that.”

You both entered the room as quietly as possible. The slightest sound could give you away. “Wow, there are such cool things in here.” Peter looked amazed. “You think Mr. Stark would let me use this?” he questioned, holding up a serpent-shaped headpiece.

“Why would you want to use that?”

“Because it’s cool.” Peter placed the crown back in its place. “What are we looking for exactly?”

“I don’t know. Something magical.”

“Everything here is magical.”

You kept your gaze fixed on the goods on the table. You were relieved that Tony hadn't yet secured them in a different location, as you knew he always did whenever Thor brought something from Asgard. A sword next to the serpent crown drew Peter's attention. You scowled. “What exactly is this? King Arthur’s Sword?

When Peter saw the blade, his eyes widened, and you smacked his hand away before he could go for it. “Don't touch it,” you warned. “A sword isn't going to help me.”

A trident. A casket. A blade. A hammer. An axe. None of this was of use to you. But then Peter picked up something you hadn’t seen displayed on the table before, “What about this?” He asked.

You took a look at the object. It appeared about a foot in length. Perhaps made of crystalline material, but it was the demonic heads on both ends that drew your attention.

“It’s a wand… I think,” Peter pondered. “You said your magic couldn't make you age up, but this thing might be able to.”

“Where did you get that?”

“It was in there,” he said, pointing to a glass dome with a yellow base in the other corner of the room. “The things that are kept away from others are usually quite unique.”

Peter carefully placed the wand in your palm once you extended your hand. When your skin made contact with the mysterious object, you felt a surge of energy race through your body. It was excruciating. It was agonizing. It felt like a massive weight had dropped on top of you, limiting your movement. Peter's eyes widened as your eyes glowed bright red. You let go of the wand, which landed with a thud on the floor, and your hands began to emit your signature red glow, as they did when you used your magic. The only problem was that you weren't. At least, not voluntarily.

“What’s going on?” Your friend's voice was filled with worry.

You couldn’t respond. To begin with, you had no idea what was going on. Second, you were being pulled backwards by what felt like an almost magnetic force. Peter's reflexes were rapid, and he tightened his grip on your hand, hoping to draw you back to him, but whatever this thing was, it was stronger than him, no matter how much super-strength the teenager possessed. You could feel your hand slipping away from his.

And then, before he knew it, you flew across the room and vanished.

You landed painfully on the hard ground. Still dizzy from what had just happened, you pushed yourself up off the floor, looking for your friend, but you didn't come across Peter. You weren't even in the laboratory anymore.

‘What the hell?’

You looked around, still disoriented. This wasn't the compound, no matter how many times you rubbed your eyes. It seemed to be a corridor.

“Where am I?” you muttered to yourself.

The stone walls, floor, and vaulted ceiling were the first things that caught your eye. The arches on the left showed not only fresh green grass but also the sun shining… which didn't add up. You were in the lab at around 3 a.m. Maybe a little later because your conversation with Bucky delayed you. Even so, it was too early for it to be daytime.

‘Why does everything look so… old fashioned?’

The more you looked around, the more obvious it became that you were far from home. You thought about Peter, and how everyone was going to blame him for this. You remembered Bucky's words about you constantly looking for trouble. You thought about Wanda, and how disappointed she would be in you. She couldn't have a minute of peace because of you. If it wasn't Principal Evans phoning to inform her how you blew up the science lab, it was a call about how you let the frogs go and how they somehow wound up in Ashley Miller's lunch.

But this? This took the cake. This wasn’t a high school prank. This was serious, and you knew that no matter how many apologies you gave her, she would never forget it, and it had most likely permanently broken her trust in you.

Your ears began to ring, your heart pounded against your chest, and your hands began to shake. You had no idea where you were, but you were certain you didn't want to be here; you wanted to go home. You wanted your sister to wrap her arms around you and soothe away your fears; providing comfort and safety. However, you were stranded in god-knows-where. Alone. Defenseless. Scared. You collapsed onto the floor, your legs clutched against your chest. Breathing was difficult. Extremely difficult, as if you'd just finished a marathon.

And you cried. Your chest clenched as bile surged in your throat.

You weren't sure how long you cried but by the time your breathing even out, your legs were numb from the stone floor.

“Are you alright?” You raised your head in response to a soft, worried voice. Only to see three individuals staring at you with concern — two boys and a girl.

You stared back at them with your shiny eyes. They appeared to be a few years younger than you and were wearing what looked like robes. The cogs began to turn in your head.

You stood up to wipe your eyes after realizing you'd been staring at them for far too long. “S-sorry,” you stammered, your hoarse, cracked voice still audible.

“It's alright,” the girl said sympathetically, “Are you feeling well?”

“Yeah, I just had a moment, but I'm fine now.”

“Are you American?” This time, it was one of the boys, the ginger of the two, who spoke. He was staring at you oddly. Perhaps because he just caught you bawling on the floor just a few moments ago, perhaps it was because you were still in your jammies. But the fact that it was your accent he picked up on first perplexed you.

You weren't sure whether to tell the truth or not. You weren’t American. You'd only been in New York for a few years, but you and Wanda had caught up on the accent quickly. Although you slipped and sounded more Sokovian when you were upset sometimes.

You choose to nod.

‘Maybe it’s better to lie.’

“Are you an Ilvermorny exchange student?” The girl asked, her voice filled with eagerness.

If these three people, whom you have never seen before but still looked extremely familiar to you, and the lion embroidered on their robes weren’t enough to give you an idea where the demonic-styled wand had sent you, the mention of the fictional American School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sure was.

You took a few seconds to respond, but you gave what you believed was the best answer; after all, you didn't know how long you'd be trapped in this universe. “Yeah, I am.”

“Hermione Granger,” she said as she extended her hand for you to shake. “These are Ron Weasley and Harry Potter.”

Ron nodded his head in greeting, and Harry waved his hand shyly.

“I’m Y/N Maximoff.”

Another person made their presence known in the passageway, interrupting your conversation. A tall woman approached you, dressed in a huge dark green robe with her black hair pulled back into a tight bun. “What exactly is happening here?”

She stared at the three younger students before turning her attention to you. When she narrowed her eyes, you knew you were screwed. She had obviously noticed there was something wrong with you.

“Professor McGonagall, why didn’t you tell us we were hosting an exchange student?”

The woman ignored Hermione's inquiry and opted to dismiss them, making it clear, at least to you, that she wanted to talk to you alone. Despite their protests, they obeyed and made their way to class.

“Now, why don’t we go to my office so we can have a chat?”

You gulped. You could tell the question was rhetorical, and she wasn't expecting you to agree. So you simply followed her. The other students passing through the hallways gave you strange stares.

[thecrownedlizard]

Rain World: Monsoon - Influence Of Beliefs(IOB)

Hey everyone! It's been a while! Apologies for the delay since my first announcement, I'll do my best to keep things up to date. So, in my previous(and first ever) post, I said I was going to present my iterators. So, let's take a look at our first iterator, Infuence Of Beliefs. PART I - INTRODUCTION One of the oldest among his local group, Beliefs's creation happened during a disagreement between ancients with different beliefs(ironically), which led to a war between both sides, with iterators in that era being created as weapons rather than machines made to solve problems. Due to having enough resistance, and to having a bit of luck, he survived the war. PART II - THE PATH AHEAD A while after that, the ancients who won the war began a journey, leaded by Sliver Of Straw and Influence Of Beliefs(which actually were best friends) in order to find a solution for the Great Problem. With both having already a decent knowledge, aswell as intuition and a great array of technology avaible to themselves, they took the lead of the Sliverists. Both were equally confident to find a better way out of that world, at any costs. Due to extreme respect to Sliver, IOB let the group be named after her. Despite both being really advanced, he always saw her as someone superior to him. And, with hopes that this would make him forget about the mayhem he was created from, decided to partake on helping her. PART III - HESITATION However, as time passed, Beliefs started to realize how pointless it was. He didn't want it to end like that. Why it all had to go off like this? He admitted he was a little afraid of what he could meet upon entering the other side, but unlike him, Sliver was optimistic, and eager to find the solution, thinking it could end up well. When they finally found a solution, the ancients who seemed to care so much about them and idolize them, all vanished. Both were then left alone. A little heartbroken, his friend decided to isolate herself from all. All but him. He decided to console her after all of this, and deemed the solution as something dangerous. During his time, he loosened up, and began to feel more attached to Sliver. Attempts were made to encourage her to give up on finding a solution, and he tried to convince her that living was a better option. PART IV - DiVERGENCE But Sliver refused. She had gone too far, and she did not want to stop there. She kept on working, fending Beliefs away for a bit. He grew more and more concerned of her, but didn't want to repress her or sound rude, so he just let her do what she wanted. He was trying to prepare himself for the worst. He did not want to ascend, but he did not want Sliver to go. Unfortunately, by the time he finally built up the courage to speak to her, she was already gone. She succeeded, and left a pearl behind for him. Sunken in despair, Beliefs entered a panic attack, nearly making himself collapse because of it. He was filled with regret. PART V - DELUSION He knew he couldn't save Sliver, as she was already dead, but he knew he could save the other iterators. It wasn't too late. Driven by his erratic thoughts, he began to mass create supersoldier units to do his bidding, and crafted many dangerous weapons in order to increase his own (fire)power. Ascension was too dangerous, as you never knew where you could end up on. It was too good to be true. Therefore, he deemed that turning the world into a realm of echos would be safer, as echos are immortal, and can be seen by the ones around them, therefore there's no risk on turning into a echo. Or so he thought. CREDITS TO FRIENDS FOR THE ART!! Beliefs drawn by @covchapman and @sweetaru1 ! The Sinner(will likely explain more about them in a future post btw) drawn by @localceilingdevil ! Expect more of those soon!

[mothtarts]

i know it was posted two weeks ago but what u said about the 'babyfication of jack morrison' is absolutely so true. it is very rare to see a fanwork that depicts him as an actual tough grizzled old supersoldier. obviously he's allowed to have feelings but he wouldn't break down in a fk panic attack over like relationship issues or be socially awkward like a pimply teenager. like hello?

OMG YEA. the way ive seen this happen to him in fics. like that is a grown ass man, I think its great to let him cry and be emotional but there's a difference from that and acting like a literal child

[igottheissue]

This Time Around 1

A strange woman Bucky is sure he knows but can’t fully recognize, picks him up after the fall of SHIELD. She claims to be friends with Steve and that she is here to help him. He can’t help but keep wondering where he knows her from; it’s definitely not through Steve Rogers. Can she help him be the man he wants to be or will the all too familiar struggles of being a super human overcome him?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X OFC Rowan O’Connor Word Count: 3,610 Rating: M Masterlist Chapter 2 Taglist: @xmarveled @spidey-the-killer-queen

A shuddered breath accompanied by a low groan came from a disheveled bed across the small studio apartment. Rowan O’Connor looked up from the book held tightly in calloused, tanned hands. The owner of said hands calmly placed the book on the cushion beside her. Getting up slowly, she carefully walked over to the man occupying her bed; grabbing a bottle of water on the way.

As she neared the bed, she eyed the greasy brown-haired man cautiously; she was no fool. She knew exactly who he was as soon as she laid eyes on him two weeks ago. The silver bionic arm attached to the man's left shoulder had given him away instantly. No matter, she had known his face for years now; coming across him more than a few times.

That bionic arm had been the bane of her existence for what felt like most of her life. Sure, she had other missions that needed to be completed, but that damn glinting arm – red soviet star gleaming at her; was always top priority.

She calmly held the water bottle out in front of her. Troubled blue eyes looked up to her own before scanning every nook and cranny they could find of the small, square living space.

"Ostavaytes’ spokoynymi. Ya ne sobirayus’ prichnyat’ tebe bol." She watched with bated breath while the man’s eyes flew back to hers. They were startling blue. They held a lightness to them that she had never seen before.

"What?" His throat felt dry. How long had it been since he'd used it? He sat up a bit more before eying the water bottle warily. The woman cleared her throat before speaking again.

"I said, stay calm, James, I'm not going to hurt you." Bucky looked at her oddly, wondering why this woman was calling him by his first name, before deciding since she seemed to at least somewhat know him, the water bottle she was offering couldn't be all that hazardous. 

He took it roughly from her hands and tore the lid off, internally sighing from relief when it popped lightly within his grasp, revealing it was sealed and therefor, not poisoned. He briefly wondered why his mind went to whether or not a bottle of water would be poisoned before downing the contents quicker than he would have thought.

When was the last time he'd had something to eat? As the thought passed through his mind, his stomach growled, rather loudly. Both sets of eyes looked down at his abdomen. The woman, who had yet to reveal herself, chuckled lightly and headed over to the kitchen area. Bucky watched with slight confusion as she hummed to herself while she stuck some bread in a toaster.

She could feel the soldier's eyes on her back as she got the butter out of the fridge for the toast. Although she had told herself the man in her bed was the Winter Soldier, a man who had tried to eliminate her on countless occasions, it had seemed – at least at this moment in time, the eyes that had questioned her first statement since he had been placed in her bed were in fact not the deadly ones she had met before. No, the man currently in her bed was Bucky Barnes, war hero, best friend of Steve Rogers; who she knew was looking for the silver-armed super soldier in her apartment.

Bucky Barnes, at the moment that is, had no idea how he found himself in this situation. Rowan didn’t quite know what to think about that. She was expecting the cold blooded killer and now she had a guy who wouldn’t remember a damn thing, at least for the next day or so, until something triggered a fit. 

She knew how it went. Everything would be fine, then a memory from his time as the Soldier would break through his mind while reading through a magazine or seeing something in a storefront. There was no rhyme or reason why the fits and memories came about, but Rowan knew they would come. They had for her.

The toast popping up suddenly had Bucky gripping the sheets nervously. Where was he? What happened to Steve and their team? He looked around once more. The warm breeze coming from the opened window above the bed he was residing in somewhat answered his question of where he was; not in the icy countryside where he last remembered being with his team. 

Everything in this apartment looked weird also. Nowhere he had ever been looked as shiny and new as the things in here. Even the clothing the woman had on were weird looking. That raised even more questions. He looked back up to the woman's face as she turned around and began speaking again.

"You're in Chicago, by the way." She said as she came closer, a plate of buttered toast and a glass of orange juice in her hands. Bucky noted her accent, the same British lilt to her voice as Peggy Carter, but with a higher notes on the end of some of her words, he couldn’t quite pin point where he had heard it from. She continued as she sat on a small stool next to the bed,

"Do you have any idea who I am? What year it is? Who you are?" She couldn't keep the questions from tumbling out. She hadn't been expecting him to be waking up like this; confused, pale, and visibly shaking. No, she had expected a bionic hand reaching for her neck. She was familiar with that situation.

He didn't answer her at first, seeming more interested in the glass of orange juice and toast that she was still holding onto, as if waiting to reward him from any answers he gave her. She sighed quietly before slowly handing him the glass and plate.

"I'm sure you're probably hungrier for more than toast and O.J., but trust me, after what you've been through, give it a few days before you try more than this." The auburn haired woman spoke softly, not wanting to spook Bucky. He had grabbed the glass and plate as soon as she gestured for him to. By the time she was done with her statement, he had already finished the orange juice and was halfway done with the second piece of toast.

Her jaw slacked open slightly in surprise at how fast he had sucked the food and drink up. She inched her stool back a bit with a pinched face and grabbed the small trash bin next to the bed. He looked quizzically at it for a second before shooting out his left arm for it. She hoped the crack he made to the bin didn't reach down far enough to let the vomit leak through onto the rug. 

He looked sheepishly back up to her after emptying the small amount of sustenance he had just inhaled, gladly accepted the paper towel from the woman, and wiped his face off before slowly taking in the object holding onto the waste basket. Taking a sharp breath in, the woman took the bin away slowly before speaking.

"James, please remain calm. I can't help you if you freak out, okay?" Bucky hardly paid attention to the woman in from of him. He dropped the half eaten toast from his right hand and continued to glare at the silver arm attached to his shoulder. 

What happened to him? Who did this? Where was Steve? And why was this woman still calling him James? His breathing started getting shallow and his vision grew black around the edges. Pain. All over; it started behind his eyes, but continued until it spread, white hot, throughout his entire body.

The warm apartment disappeared as Bucky found himself cold, so incredibly cold. His eyes could barely make anything out. His vision was blurry, and there seemed to be frost all around him. If he concentrated hard enough, he could just see a figure through the ever-thickening frost. 

A man in a black business suit was glaring at him with a hopeful look on his face. His gray fringed red hair stood out bright among the dimly lit room. The cold was growing, his vision fading yet again. Then warm hands reached out and grasped both his shoulders. His mind did not think. His body only reacted.

Rowan could only watch as Bucky grabbed her right shoulder with his left hand and her left thigh with his right hand and toss her like a lawn chair across the apartment. She landed roughly on the coffee table, thanking her lucky stars it wasn’t glass. It almost didn’t break under her weight. 

Rowan didn’t slow down as she rolled from the crumpled coffee table and jumped back up, twisting her body as she landed back on her feet. Just in time to deflect a rather roughly thrown left hook. The Winter Soldier’s bionic arm groaned under the force of hitting the woman’s right arm.

Taking advantage of his surprise, Rowan grabbed hold of his right shoulder and heaved herself up, flipping and landing on Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky stumbled backwards and grabbed both her thighs while trying to pry her off. Rowan flexed her legs tightly to hold on and landed blow after blow to Bucky’s face. After four elbows to the head the Winter Soldier fell back onto the couch, dazed, but not knocked out. 

Rowan jumped off quickly, taking advantage of his quieted state to grab hold of his shoulders once more, softer this time. She took a deep breath, silently thanked Natasha for teaching her signature move (a rather funny story for another time), and began trying to talk the Winter Soldier back down into the form of Bucky Barnes.

"I need you to focus on me. Breathe deeply, there. Now breathe out. James? Look at me. There you go. How many windows are in this room?" This was an exercise that Natasha had used countless times to help Rowan from going nuclear when she started to have a fit from a memory breaking through. It worked most of the time. 

Bucky’s eyes snapped back to the woman kneeling in front of him in between his legs. How did he end up on the couch? He didn’t remember moving to the couch. What happened? Why was this God-forsaken, weird-accented woman still calling him James?

"Why do you keep calling me James?"

"Answer my question."

"My name is Bucky."

"Bucky. Answer my question." He was sweating, and had a rather splitting headache he didn’t remember having. Sky blue eyes pulled away from emerald ones and tried to calmly count the amount of windows.

"Four." He stated, sounding calmer than he felt.

"How many doors?"

"Two."

"Good. My name is Rowan O'Connor. You seem not to remember me, which, considering our past is probably a good thing." She finished with a slight smile to her red-stained lips and took her hands off his shoulders. Standing up, she wiped some imaginary dirt off of her shorts before making her way to the love seat across from the couch Bucky was sitting on. He eyed the splintered coffee table suspiciously, but didn’t say anything.

"I found you two weeks ago lying face down in a dry creek bed in Virginia. You'd been shot twice; your right shoulder and your abdomen. Don't bother looking for any wounds. Our bodies heal faster than most." Bucky was trying to process the information. What did she mean by 'our bodies'? He couldn't wrap his head around any of this. Too many questions were going through his muddled brain. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He decided to start with a simple question first.

Rowan had sat back as comfortably as she could with cracked ribs after relaying the information to her fellow super soldier. She knew he had to have a million questions bobbing around in his head; who was she, why was she here, where did this arm come from, why couldn't he remember anything; but Rowan was very surprised by the first question Bucky voiced.

"How did you know about the food?" His voice came out low and gravelly still, even after the orange juice and water; clearly it was sore from not using it for at least half a month. Bucky noticed some hesitation before a quiet answer emerged from her lips.

"Let's just say I've… had some personal experience in this field before." He nodded in understanding, nearly choking on the thickness in the air that the seemingly simple question had brought on. Her nearly palpable nervousness about the topic gave him some much-needed confidence in the situation. It seemed, at least a little bit, that he wasn’t alone.

"You asked me earlier if I knew who you were. I don't know you. I mean, I don’t think I do. There’s glimpses. You’re eyes. I know I’ve seen them before... But I don’t have a name. Well, I have a word. But it isn’t a name, ‘least not where I’m from. But you know me. And it seems that I’m at your mercy," He stretched his body out a bit before grimacing. 

Rowan stilled, just barely, she wasn’t sure if Bucky noticed. He had a word. There was a dictionary of words out there that he could remember about her. She wished it was something trivial, but she had a sickening feeling it was the one word she didn’t want anyone to remember. There was only a handful of people still alive that knew that word. When Rowan didn’t continue, Bucky spoke again, not feeling comfortable in the silence.

"And if what you said about where and how you found me was true, it seems you might be the one to thank for me being alive right now." He paused with a smirk. Rowan could see why so many women had swooned over him back in his Howling Commando days. She didn't really have a reply to his latest statement so she just looked at him, amazed at the difference brainwashing someone does to their features. 

She remembered hard, strict jawlines. Stoic, dark blue eyes with thick, creased eyebrows. A five o’clock shadow that seemed to cover more than just his lower face. That shadow covered his mind, his heart. Bucky’s smirk faded a bit, growing impatient with the woman’s stillness. It was almost perverted the way her green eyes were moving over his face. So he tried again,

"Besides the obvious," he raised his left arm as indication to his biggest question,

"If you don't mind I'd like to know who my savior is, and not just a pretty name with an even prettier face." He lifted his light blue eyes slowly to meet Rowan's. Rowan raised her eyebrows slightly at the openness and willingness to speak coming from a man who had hardly spoken two words to her since they had first met over forty years ago.

Could she trust this man enough to give him the information he seemed so desperate to want? Was there any way he could have been assigned to eliminate her as his mission after DC? She thought hard while he waited for her to speak. She had seen him at his deadliest. There was no way that he was under any type of whatever brainwash thing HYDRA was known for; his eyes were too bright, his features too expressive; for now at least. 

And she knew for a fact that no one working for HYDRA knew about what happened when Assets had been out of the freezer for too long. She knew the difference between someone who had been put on a mission and someone who didn't know what the hell was going on. So she went with her gut feeling.

"Well, I'm a lot like you. Actually we fought against each other more than once in the past forty years. It's-"

"Forty years? Listen lady, I’m only 26. You can’t be any older than I am. What I said earlier about your eyes, hey, I’m just saying, lots of dames have pretty green eyes.”

"If you'd let me finish…" She gave him a wry smile that showed a small dimple on her left cheek. He shut his mouth slowly.

"Like I was saying. It's gonna be kinda hard to explain who I am without first explaining who you are. So let’s start there and we’ll see how you’re feeling about my story afterwards, yeah?" Rowan rose from her position on the loveseat, deciding this was a conversation for the couch instead. His gaze followed her every move. Bucky was thinking hard about where they would have fought against each other; if she were even telling the truth. Did that mean she was working with the Nazi's? What year was it? She said over the last forty years?! 

He took a breath… People had thought what happened to Steve was impossible, hell if he admitted, he had even had some questions about the whole thing. But he saw it with his own eyes. Maybe what he was about to hear wasn’t as crazy or impossible as he initially thought. He watched her wearily while she got comfortable on the couch next to him. He could feel the warmth radiating off her body. He enjoyed the warmth.

"Don't hurt yourself trying to think. Just sit back and relax a little, it's gonna be a long morning." Bucky looked out one of the windows, only to be met with a brick wall of another building not ten feet away. But he could tell by the ever lightening of the red bricks that the sun had started to rise, though the wind creaking at the window panes teased a storm coming through.

While Bucky was busy looking out the windows, Rowan quickly pulled a syringe out from under her, making it look like she was adjusting an ill fitted cushion. She didn’t want to take any more chances of Mr. Barnes having a fit while talking about the last forty years. The light blue liquid was the only thing she had known to exist that could take someone like Steve Rogers, The Winter Soldier, or herself down in under ten seconds. 

Once again, something to thank Natasha for, maybe… Tony did the majority of the work, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a big thank you until she had tried it out properly. As it was, her body visibly relaxed when the dark haired man turned his head back to her and adjusted his seat on the opposite end of the brown leather couch.

"Okay, so… Who am I? I mean what exactly do you mean by that? I know who I am. I'm Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes, 107th, Howling Commandos. I was born in Shelbyville, Indiana in 1917 before moving to Brooklyn when my dad changed jobs. After I graduated high school I was drafted into the army.

“My best friend, Steve, he didn’t get in with me at first, but then they made that serum thing and we fought together, in the Howling Commandos. Never married, just a mom, dad, and little sister. I'm not sure what else you need to know about me…" he paused, taking in a deep breath and running his right hand through his shoulder length hair; still afraid to move the thing that had apparently replaced his left arm. Rowan held her breath, waiting for him to continue; she didn't want to overstep any boundaries he might have. When he didn't elaborate on himself any further, she decided to step in.

"Well, Bucky, it seems I've got a lot to catch you up on." And so the day passed on slowly for the two super human subjects. Rowan relaying The Winter Soldier's history that she had been forced to learn over her years as a soldier fighting "The Good Fight" against him, filling him in on some facts about herself, but leaving most of it out. Bucky listened closely to every word, anxiety growing with each passing hour.

-TTA-

Steve Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, paced back and forth nervously in front of the many screens decorating the walls of Tony Stark’s lab. The self-proclaimed genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist had graciously opened his home to the remaining Avengers after the fall of SHIELD and HYDRA. The Iron Man himself was nowhere to be found this morning, having stayed the night over at Pepper’s house (She insisted on keeping her penthouse overlooking Central Park for the times Tony drove her just a wee bit bonkers). 

Sam was upstairs, still sleeping. Natasha sat in the middle of all the computer screens, every once in a while tapping rapidly on one keyboard or another. Not being able to keep the motion of Steve pacing rapidly out of her peripheral vision, she spun around in her chair and glared at him, stopping him in his tracks. The innocent look he gave her almost made her laugh despite the situation. She took a calming breath, he wasn’t doing this to annoy her. He was just worried about his friend.

She had tried to convince Steve to let it go, but she couldn’t do that with a clear conscience because she actually liked Steve, and since she enjoyed his innocent company most of the time, she couldn’t keep the fact that she was seventy-two percent sure where The Winter Soldier was. 

Well, at least who he was with. That’s probably the biggest reason she wasn’t freaking out that a Nazi super soldier was on the loose. If anyone could handle him, it was Rowan.

[moonagedaydreamohyeah]

Hi!! Welcome back! I saw you'retaking prompts, so I hope it's okay for me to send a lil one 🥺 I have this idea where Bucky has nightmares constantly, and they get so bad he can't wake up. So after a couple of weeks, he's barely holding on, Steve tries something though. And now wherever he has a nightmare, he grabs his hand, to soothe him while telling him various memories of them, their wedding, their childhood. It works, Bucky calms down eventually and then wakes up. Telling Steve his dream shifted at a certain point and stopped being scary. I had this idea but I truly cannot write at all, if you choose to do it (it's totally fine if you don't though) I know you'll do a great job! Tysm

Hii Nonnie! Thank you soo so much for your prompt, I’m sorry it took so long! Here it is though, it turned out pretty long but I hope you like it!!🙏🌼💗

Trigger warnings for some angst and trauma related stuff and a close-to panic attack - I promise it gets fluffy before long☺️

_____________________________________________

The first thing Steve registered as he slowly became aware of his surroundings was the darkness of their room, suggesting that it was nowhere close to being morning yet.

He slowly blinked his eyes open and as he reached his hand out he came in contact with heated and sweat-clammy skin at the same time as he heard the tell-tale whimpering sounds from beside him, which instantly alerted to the cause of him having woken up in the first place.

As he sat up and turned the lamp at his bedside on, Steve looked at the distressed face of his boyfriend, at the way that his hands are opening and closing around the sheet in tight fists as if battling through a pain that was only a memory, but probably felt just as fresh and real as the approaching dawn.

Running a hand tiredly over his face, Steve suspected the bone deep exhaustion which is the product of almost two weeks of sleepless nights, for the fact that he didn’t realise what was happening the moment he stirred into wakefulness.

Steve took a deep breath in a lost effort to gather himself for what appeared to be another sleepless night with Bucky reliving the worst moments of his life while Steve sat helplessly beside him, unable to wake him up from the horror he was reliving and bring him back to reality.

When this specific brand of night terrors had first started, Steve had gone through any and all means that he and Bucky could come up with to wake him up, finding that not one of them was enough to tear Bucky from the deep sleep he was caught up in and the painful memories that came with it.

It wasn’t like nightmares were any kind of new experience for either of them, which of course couldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. They had both experienced stuff that would bring anyone nightmares, and Bucky’s mind especially only had to dig through what seemed like a bottomless pile of more than 70 years incomparable trauma and replay it, whenever it wanted to procure night terrors of the kind that would have most people opt for never sleeping again, if it meant they didn’t have to relive it - which is what Bucky would have preferred too, if it wasn’t for his therapist having put him on a strict sleeping schedule and medication to ensure that he would actually sleep within those set times, in a sympathetic voice ensuring him that the only road to recovery was through.

Usually the other would be there to wake up whomever of them were unlucky enough to run into a nightmare bad enough to wake the other up, and they would be able to hold each other until they could talk it out and eventually go back to sleep, until they were ready to go back to sleep.

They even had a ritual set up for the really bad ones. They would put on a pot of coffee and have a cup each, indulging in plenty of cream and sugar and drink them while watching an episode or two of Steven Universe on the TV.

As none of that was something they’d gotten to enjoy before waking up in the 21’st century, due to rationing and what not, that usually brought them had suffered right back to reality, reminding them that they had both escaped the pain of the past, and were now back together in the somewhat peaceful life they had managed to create for themselves in this new time and place.

But since these particular nightmares had started, none of that had been of use anymore. No matter what Steve tried, Bucky simply wouldn’t wake up and all Steve could do was sit helplessly by his side while the whimpers and cries for help rose in volume,

That didn’t stop Steve from trying though. Reaching out to try and shake Bucky out of it, Steve tried to keep the desperation out of his voice as he spoke.

“Bucky, baby, come on wake up. You’re dreaming sweetheart, you aren’t there anymore, you’re right here with me, all you gotta do is wake up.”

As he’d come to expect though, it was no use. If anything, the nightmare only seemed to be intensifying, if the full body shiver and increasingly loud whimpers of pain was anything to go by. Steve could feel his voice wavering as he shook him a little harder while he tried to speak over the devastating sounds coming from his love.

“Bucky, please. C’mon, baby, wake up. Sweetheart.”

It was when Bucky, still not showing any signs of waking up, let out a loud, high pitched cry of ‘please, no, no more, no more please, it hurts!’ that Steve suddenly couldn’t take it anymore. His breath hitched as the sob he’d been trying to hold back suddenly tore from his throat and without thinking, he was throwing the covers off and leaping out of their shared bed and into the living room where he braced himself on the back of the couch and took in gasping breaths as he tried to control the sobs that kept coming.

As his breathing only picked up the pace, Steve felt himself steer into what would no doubt become a full blown panic attack if he didn’t get a hold of himself. He slid down to sit the floor and placed his between his knees while back and forth to eight in his in a last ditch effort to slow his breathing; ‘breathe in for eight, and then out for eight’ he recited in his head.

Finally feeling his breathing start to even out, he remembered something that Mary-Ann, Bucky’s therapist, had stressed in one of their shared sessions;

‘You can’t cure another person’s pain or trauma, and the minute you catch yourself trying or beating yourself up over not being successful in doing so, you’re only making the situation worse by creating more pain for yourself along side with the pain your loved one is already in. Working through this stuff is only something you can do for yourself. The best you can do is be by their side to support them through it and try to diminish the strain of negative thoughts and other practical stuff that takes energy away from the effort that it takes to get better.’

Bucky and Steve both had trauma to work through, and figuring out to best help each other without putting too much strain on themselves and taking on the other’s struggles as well, had been a difficult balance to achieve when they had first been brought back to each other. But through therapy and conversations they had managed to get into a pretty good rhythm when it came to balancing their relationship and everyday life which all the baggage they each brought into it, by being there for each other in the best way possible.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t still hard sometimes, and these nightmares had taken a serious toll on both of them, so it wasn’t any wonder that Steve was at his limit. Had it only taken out on the nights, that would have been a different thing. But Bucky had been restless and tired in the day too, often staring off into the distance seemingly caught up in his own head. Steve, having been kept up by Bucky’s nightmares, had slowly felt the weight of Bucky’s struggles and the overall gloomy mood in their shared home, become to much to bear with his sparring energy resources.

Reminding himself once again of Mary-Ann’s words, Steve tried to shake off the feeling of inadequacy as he slowly got up from the floor. ‘The only way to get past this is through,’ he thought decisively, ‘and we will get through it.’

Even though Steve suddenly couldn’t bear to not be by Bucky’s side for one more moment, he opted to take a quick detour into the kitchen to get himself a glass of water, before he braces himself and returned to the bedroom.

By now whatever Bucky was reliving had sent him into a state of thrashing around on the sheets, throwing the covers halfway off to reveal his sweat soaked shirt, accompanied the sound of pleading, painful sounding whimpers that bordered on sobs.

Sitting himself back on the bed, Steve used one hand to grab a firm hold of Bucky’s that was now clutching the sheet hard enough that it was a wonder he hadn’t torn a hole in it yet, and started rubbing soothing circles over the back while he smoothed Bucky’s hair away from his sweaty face. Steve took a deep breath to collect himself before he started talking in a soothing voice.

“It’s okay, Buck, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere sweetheart” He didn’t know if he was still talking to Bucky or mostly trying to convince himself, when he continued, “I can’t take the pain away, but I can at least be here by your side through it, huh? Just like your Mary-Ann told us: that’s all I can do, and I’ll do it sweetheart, I’ll stay right here. I’m sorry I had to leave for a little while, but I promise I’m here now, okay? Just like you were always right there for me.”

Thinking back to the first of those awful winters when Steve had been so sick that not one doctor dared reassure his ma that he would be sure to pull through, Steve continued in that same, low voice, mostly just thinking out loud by now. He almost didn’t notice that Bucky’s whimpers had toned down a little bit and the thrashing was starting to calm down again into those god awful full body shivers.

“I guess I know how you felt now, going though those winters back then, huh? Oh god, how awful that must have been for you, baby, I get that now, don’t I? Sitting there, unable to do a damn thing but always reassuring me that I would get through even when everyone else doubted it. You always stayed, and I swear baby, that must’ve been what got me through at least the half of it.” Steve had to breath in deep again to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“Remember that first winter? We can’t have been that old, maybe nine or ten I think..” Steve mused, caught up in the memories. “Yeah, that must’ve been it. I remember ‘cause we had been playing all day out in the rain and we didn’t even notice how cold it was. Your ma gave us such an earful when we came home, soaked through and teeth chattering. I remember her going at us while we stood in the bathroom, naked as the day we were born and shivering, while she got the bath ready. She had that voice on, the one she used when we’d been exceptionally stupid”, Steve scoffed quietly. “‘You boys, I swear,’ she would always say, ‘it’s barely forty degrees outside and you run around in the rain like that; you’ll get sick, that’s for sure. You boys don’t think we have better things to spent all our hot water on?’ and I remember her voice soften when she told us, ‘you gotta take better care of yourselves, especially you Steve, with how skinny you are.’ I think she was probably more worried than mad though. God, I miss your ma sometimes. She was such a wonderful woman. Always had a thing or two to say about the shenanigans we got up to, but you could always tell she wasn’t really all that mad. She was right too, of course. I spent the entire winter in bed, doing my best to cough up half a lung while you sat by my side with that determined look on your face, like you were prepared to fight off death himself if he ever even thought of bothering to show up.”

By now Bucky was visibly calming down, the only signs of distress being the furrow of his brow and the occasional clenching and unclenching of the fist that Steve wasn’t holding onto, so Steve kept talking in the hope that that was what was finally doing the trick.

“And you never let me go out after that, without being practically bunched up in a hundred layers, even if it meant you had to freeze your balls off.” Steve chuckled to himself, suddenly recalling a very fond memory. “Oh, and then when it finally got hot outside again and we were out playing - we were with that girl, what was her name again..” Steve thought back, trying to remember. “- Laurel? Loraine? You know, the one with the pretty curls you were always pulling at when her family sat in front of us in church and no one was looking. Anyway, you found that penny on the ground and decided you were gonna buy us ice cream cones, but of course one penny turned out to only be enough for one. And I remember the look on her face when you said I should have it, god, she was so disappointed. But I had lost weight from being sick all winter and I was even skinnier than usual, and you were all like ‘look at him, he needs fattening up, it’s only fair, here you go Stevie, you have it’ and you wouldn’t hear any complaints about it.”

Steve was brought back from his reminiscing by Bucky rolling over onto his back and letting out a small sigh, any signs of the nightmare having disappeared from his features. Steve was flooded with relief as he smiled down at him and continued softly. “It was all there, right in front of my face, even back then, wasn’t it? I can’t believe I spent all those years being jealous of all the ladies who were always keen on dancing with you when we went out. You only ever had eyes for me, huh?”

Steve startled at the sound of Bucky’s sleep rough mumble. “‘Course, you punk”

Squeezing his hand, Steve checked to make sure he had heard right. “Bucky? Hey, you awake honey?”

Bucky squeezed back, letting out a grumbled “Mmh.. wha’s going on, why’re you up?” but he seemed to quickly rise from his sleepy state at Steve’s choked “oh thank god”

“Hey, Steve what’s wrong, huh? Look at me, what happened? You have a nightmare or somethin’”? Bucky asked, wiping away a single tear of pure relief that had apparently escaped and was trailing down Steve’s left cheek. His look of worry turned into one of realisation though, when it dawned on him. “Oh shit, it was me having a nightmare again huh? It happened again, didn’t it? Aww I’m sorry Stevie.”

“No no, please don’t apologise,” Steve hurried to reassure him. “It’s not your fault Buck. I’m just so relieved you’re back with me. It’s just hard, you know? Seeing you in that much pain and not being able to do a thing about it,” Steve sniffled.

“Yeah, I know Stevie, I know.” Bucky expression briefly shifted to one of confusion. “How’d you wake me up? I thought we’d practically tried everything by now.”

“I didn’t, at first,” Steve said, “I just starting talking to you and then when it seemed to calm you down a bit I kinda just kept going with like, talking about memories that came up, you know from back when we were kids.”

“Oh yeah.” Bucky furrowed his brows in thought. “I don’t really remember what the nightmare was about, only that it was awful and then the dream sort of.. shifted. Something about my ma giving us an earful and then something about ice cream cones and brown curls?” Bucky’s face shifted, as if he’d remembered something funny. “God, you remember that time I found that penny? And that girl, Loraine I think, she got so mad when I bought you ice cream instead of her,” Bucky chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s the story I was telling,” Steve smiled. “To be fair, that was kind of dick move, Barnes. Ain’t no way to treat a lady.”

“Hey! You were so skinny! You clearly needed it more than her!” Bucky defended himself. “And by the way, it wasn’t exactly her I was trying to impress.” Bucky said, waggling his eyebrows.

Steve snorted. “Yeah, alright, you’re a real charmer.”

“Don’t you know it,” Bucky said. Smiling more softly, he leaned in so his forehead was resting against Steve’s. “I’m really sorry for waking you up honey. It sucks that you have to be here through all that Stevie, I know it ain’t easy on you.”

“Nah,” Steve answered. “I’m right where I want to be. Till the end of the line and all that, remember? Not planning to go anywhere”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed softly, and then in an almost whisper, sounding suddenly vulnerable, “I love you so much, Stevie.”

Sensing that Bucky was finally feeling some of the raw emotion that was left over from the nightmare he’d just endured, now that he knew that Steve was okay, Steve lifted up to plant a lingering kiss on his forehead. Rubbing a hand soothingly up and down Bucky’s back, he noted that his t-shirt was still soaked from sweat. “Me too, Buck. Me too. Hey, why don’t I go make a pot of coffee and turn the TV on and you come join me once you’ve cleaned up a little?”

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, burying himself a bit closer into Steve’s embrace before pulling away and offering a grateful smile. “That sounds good.”

[yuulina-vre]

New Year’s Eve

Masterlist

“Stop it. Please! I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Y/N tries to wriggle herself out of Bucky’s grip. He straddles her hips, holing her tight with his leg while tickling her merciless. A grin plasters on his face as Y/N starts crying while laughing. “So. Are you admitting that I’m not snoring?”

“Yes. Yes. Steve is. I’m sorry.” Bucky lets go of her, leaning back a little so that Y/N can breathe normally, without being crushed under him. “I’m not snoring!” Steve calls from the kitchen. “You do! You ever did as kid.” Bucky shouts back. “Not true, jerk!”

“Punk.” Y/N takes a deep breath eyes fixed on Bucky just in case that he changes his mind and starts tickling her again. She sits up a bit straighter on their couch, not slipping out under Bucky. Instead, she stretches a bit and places a kiss on his jaw. His head spins around to her again. He smiles at her, caresses her cheek before leaning in and kissing her properly. As they break apart a loud crash is heard from the kitchen. “Steve, what are you doing in there?” Y/N pushes Bucky a little back so that she manages to stand up, but Bucky slings his arms around her hips pulling her back on his lap. “Bucky!” She laughs again as he starts tickling her sides again. “Stop. Let’s look if he's still alive.”

“Why? Now there's more room in your bed.”

“Bucky!”

“Fine.” He lets go of her with a sigh but not without giving her a clap on her butt as she hurries to the kitchen. She throws him a smirk before entering the kitchen. “Shit.”

“Language, Steve. What happened?” Steve crouches on the ground, a reg in his hand and cleans up the remaining fluid that looks close to cocoa. “I dropped the mug.” He sticks a finger into his mouth and looks up to her. “And you picked up the pieces and cut yourself.” He looks away from her with a shy gaze before nodding. “Yeah.”

“Okay, let me see.” She stretches out a hand and Steve lays his in hers. She looks at the finger. “Hm. It's not really deep. Still, I put a band aid on it. Wait a sec.”

Read more

[justalonelyslytherin]

Sly's Rec List

Time to finally set this up! I've been reading and reading the last couple of days (even though my drafts don't get less) and always think to myself: 'Oh that writer is so good and I need to keep up with their work/blog' and then I still lose sight of them...

Also, interactions have never been less and I know a lot of us writers are struggling with the little interaction. It feels like no one ever sees the things we post. So this will be my space to just list blogs to who I want to follow up or just give a shoutout!

Blog's I love & recommend

@rogersideup - my fav Steve blog. Every story is amazing. They blow my mind every single time.

@spectre-posts + @wiypt-writes - these two write some of the best series there are for pretty much every ce character. Long, incredibly detailed, heart-warming, gut-wrenching, tear-and-squeal-inducing stories written with love and some of the most dedication I have seen. The dialogue is bomb!

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork - has written some of my absolute favorite Curtis Everett stuff. She knows him and there is no one that can portray Curtis better

@navybrat817 - tattoo boys, biker boys, any type of boys. So many fantastic bucky fics. Love Stud, Smartie & Alpine

@imaginedreamwrite - can write literally anything and make it absolutely fucking incredible. Brimming with ideas on end, one better than the other. Queen of daily prompts and drabbles!

@anika-ann - queen of angst and fluff

@hangmans-wingman - American Made and Little Wonder are to die for. Stories that hook you from second 1 and will keep you at the edge of your seat!

(more to follow)

Fics I love & can only, highly recommend

Marvel

Waiting For This - @musingsinmoonlight - oneshot, Steve Rogers, 18+, a/b/o

A sticky situation - @rogersideup - oneshot, Steve Rogers, bubblegum & hair = forced haircut, fluff

Sweet Indulgences - @sweetascanbee - oneshot, Steve Rogers, wedding dress + slight fake-dating + first kiss, fluff!

My Soul Can Not Sleep Without You - @neonovember - oneshot, Steve Rogers, Steve is the type of man to never let you get to bed angry

Six Years - @the-bau-quinjet - oneshot, Steve Rogers, amnesia trope, Y/N forgets her life with Steve, the best take on the amnesia trope I have read!

Press Four For Poppet - @frostironfudge - oneshot, Steve Rogers, 18+, steve dials a sex-hotline

Emergency contact - @rogersideup - oneshot, Steve Rogers, Steve gets sick, so frickin' cute!

Walking the wire - @pedrito-friskito - oneshot, Nomad!Steve Rogers, supersoldier/red-room!reader, 18+, so fucking good omg, the air of mystery, the exposition, the chemistry between them, the spice! READ IT, IT'S SO GOOD

Sonder - @rogersideup - oneshot, Steve Rogers, Steve and the nice shield doctor, takes him a while to ask her out. SO GOOD. ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE.

Coffee and Cinnamon | Maple Latte | Apples and Cherries - @sarahwroteathing - oneshot, Steve Rogers, bookshop/bakery au, friendly banter, Steve being a punky nemesis, just tooth-rotting fluff and amazing dialogue; best bookshop/bakery/coffeeshop au I have ever read!

Get This Girl Some Ice Cream! - @witchywithwhiskey - oneshot, Steve Rogers, hurt/comfort, Reader has a panic attack & Steve soothers her, incredibly sweet and comforting

The Things We Do For Love - @ronearoundblindly - Steve Rogers, wife!reader, Reader has a smelly & unpleasant accident in the lab, Steve 'The Drama Queen' Rogers (lovely dubbed 'Drug Dog') has to deal with it - utterly hilarious, some of the best sassy dialogue I've ever read, Steve being a dramatic cutie

Period Cramps - @espinosaurusrexex - oneshot, period cramps suck but Steve is there to make it better, comfort read

Right Where You Belong - @witchywithwhiskey - oneshot, college!au, baseball played!steve & studybuddy!reader, all the sweet and innocent college infatuation and date, so sweet and comforting to read

Perfect Moments - @eviesaurusrex - oneshot, Stucky x Reader, the cutest fic ever! Oh the comfort, oh the fluff. This sent me straight to cloud nine. This is the air I need to breathe, it's that cute and fluffy and perfection!

Other CE characters

After school comfort - @junipermuses - oneshot, Ari Levinson, comfort & fluff

The Five Step Plan - @theycallmebecca - oneshot, Frank Adler, au where Mary's mother dies later, very sweet and real feeling story

Where The Heart Is - @babyjakes - blurb, Jake Jensen, the cutest shit ever, sooo fluffy, Jake visits reader in hospital and is a adorable bean

Spa Date - @ghotifishreads - drabble/blurb, Ari Levinson, face masks, Ari being seductive and impatient, funny and cute

Top Gun Maverick

Just In Case - @katiesharms - oneshot, Hannix, angst w/ happy ending

Who did this to you? - @justfandomwritings - oneshot, Hangman, so good, see warnings

Do not disturb - @callsign-valley - oneshot, Hangman, 18+

Slow Burn - @ereardon - series, completed, Hangman, 18+ - amazing story! So well written, ending up pregnant with Hangman's baby after a ons, happy ending

Haunted by the Ghost of You - TheRebelHunter on ao3 - series, TG86, Hop 31 but instead of one jet going down, both jets go down, Goose survives but all four (Mav, Goose, Ice & Slider) get injured - I helped create the plot, as this started out as a au in the tgm discord. Angsty but amazing!

Where I'm From - @sometimes-i-write-good - oneshot, Hangman, first date, Jake is a sweetheart & gentleman, clearly knows what treating a girl is supposed to be like, loved the ending

Others

An Old Flame II - @b00kdiary - series, Aemond Targaryen, 18+, amazing dialogue!

[whirlybirbs]

         (  chapter 6′s gif by @buckysbarnes​​ from this lovely set !  )

✪   —   VACANT MIRRORS  ;  B.B.  |  6/?

summary: gunshot wounds, panic attacks, and evil next door neighbors.

pairing: bucky barnes / f!reader

tags: set before & during tfatws, friends to lovers, therapy positive, trauma healing techniques, ptsd mentions, the normalization of anxiety disorders, and a good ol’ slow burn

word count: 5.3k, a filler before the real sexual tension.

a/n: be warned, this chapter has a diy medical procedure where bucky removes the slug from rabbit’s shoulder. it’s nothing too graphic, but keep that in mind! also, i wanted to say thank you to everyone who has rec’d, reblogged, commented, kudos, liked, looked at this fic. the response to every chapter has been so overwhelmingly kind and i’m so thankful that i have the oppurtunity to share this fic with you all. that being said, i broke this chapter up. next week has some spice. ;-)

        (   PREVIOUSLY   |    AO3    |    MASTERLIST  |   NEXT )

Bucky wakes up with a headache that feels like someone’s tapped an icepick between his eyes. A fire-bright burn radiates under his ribs.

It’s a slow creep back to reality — he just lays there and stares at the peeling wallpaper that meets the corner of the ceiling for a while, knowing deep in the back of his muddled, confused thoughts that he most likely has a nasty concussion, maybe a few broken ribs.

How? Hm. Fighting. Music? The club.

Rabbit.

He sits up fast and Bucky’s blue eyes struggle to adjust in the low-light of the scarcely furnished apartment. The searing pang of his headache is enough to make his stomach churn, but he’s had worse. So much worse. This is manageable. So, he swallows down the nausea and looks around the room like a wounded animal — and almost immediately, relief greets him at the sight of you in the armchair across from the couch.

Your hair is a mess, falling from it’s previous style that you’d proudly worn to The Glass Cannon. Your lipstick is smeared, there’s glitter on your cheeks, and your make-up has transitioned from starlet beauty to broken-hearted bombshell. Bucky notices, with a bit of dismay, that you’re even missing an earring. There’s a nasty bruise forming along the peak of your cheekbone and a gash there from when Alexei had cracked you across the face with the pistol — and even despite all this, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the sight of you. A good clench. The sort that makes his heart kick into a stutter step.

You look… well, you look like someone who’d had the shit choked out of them and then was shot.

Shot.

Your jacket, punched clean through with the single bullet hole, is hanging over the back of the chair and there’s gauze taped to your shoulder. You’re leaning your good cheek in your hand, attention turned totally to Bucky, where you’ve fallen asleep. From here, you’re a picture of exhaustion.

Anxiety flashes in his heart and he swings his legs over the edge of the couch.

Suddenly, there’s a hand on his shoulder.

“Take it easy.”

It’s the woman from before, Kiwi, and she’s got an ice pack in her hands. It’s wrapped in a ratty, green dish towel, and she hands it off to Bucky with a pitiful little look. Rounding the couch, Bucky finally gets a better look at her.

She’s older than you, maybe by a handful of years, but sharp and beautiful nonetheless. Her hair is dark as night and the tips are drenched in a lime colored dye. Her eyes are dark, too, ringed by kohl and glitter, and Bucky wonders if he’s ever seen her before.

“You heal quick,” she says quietly as she plops down into the chair across the room. On a makeshift desk, there’s a laptop, “Care to explain how you know our dear friend Rabbit here?”

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Again, his eyes fall on your sleeping form.

He maneuvers the ice pack in his hands, then gently presses it to his ribs. He melts a bit, ignoring the evident tears in the silk shirt. He feels bad — he’d busted some of the seams in the midst of the brutal scuffle and it seems like this artifact of Jaimie’s was most likely beyond salvation.

His dog tags jingle against his chest.

“Therapy,” Bucky croaks, “We, uh, we met in therapy.”

A new voice comes into the picture now, one that’s muffled by a mouthful of food.

“That’s cute.”

It’s the other one, Climber. He’s traded in his all-black, all-polyurethane outfit for an expensive looking t-shirt. Without the strobes, without the tunnel vision, Bucky can now see the intricate buzz cut that sits beneath the mountain of blue curls on his head. There are patterns buzzed into his tight-shave. He’s got a smile, too, the glimmers a little too artificially. Bucky spies crystals inset on his incisors between bites of what looks like a bowl of cereal with no milk. Spoon and all.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met,” Climber says as he plops down next to Bucky on the couch, “What’d you say your name was?”

A hand is jutted his way. Bucky blinks. He shakes it with his vibranium hand.

“I’m Bucky.”

“Well, I’m gay and you’re gorgeous,” he says candidly, giving it a good shake, “So, if that’s of any interest—”

“Can you please shut up, Climber?” comes an irritated rasp from you in your armchair. Bucky turns to watch as you raise your head and rub your eyes, “Christ, I just fell asleep.”

“And your little supersoldier just woke up,” Kiwi chirps from her preoccupation with the laptop and contents on it, “So why don’t you stop being a little baby and let him look at that gunshot wound.”

Bucky’s face falls flat. He drops the ice pack to the coffee table with a thwunk.

You sit up, gingerly trying to maneuver yourself so as to not bother both your ribs and your shoulder. It takes a moment, but finally you’re sitting up with only a dull ache of pain throbbing beneath your skin. Now, the real sting comes from the bitter look Bucky has pinned you with.

“You haven’t cleaned it yet?”

“The shits in the kitchen,” Kiwi waves at Bucky, as if to say told you so, “She fuckin’ refused to let me take care of it.”

“You’re going to get an infection if it stays in you any longer,” he snaps, standing to his feet, “Get up.”

“Kiwi isn’t exactly the most gentle person I know,” you manage to supply as an excuse as you move through the room, “And I know that thing isn’t coming out without a fight.”

He can feel the grey hairs coming in already.

You stand slowly, and Bucky looms behind you as you weave into the small apartment’s kitchen.

It’s barely lived in, but a few years ago it most definitely had life. Now, it’s mostly abandoned save for a few necessities. Kiwi had told you, a long time ago, about this spot — it was her parent’s place before the Snap. After the Blip, they ended up moving back to Massachusetts. Now abandoned by anyone seeking to really live in the one bedroom, it sits collecting dust until Kiwi inevitably needs it.

Like now.

“Up on the counter.”

You wince at his tone, but still thankful to be away from Kiwi and Climber’s prying eyes.

For the entire time Bucky had been out, you’d been subjected to a myriad of questions — all were fair, really, since Bucky did just bust out the Avenger-level super-moves on some Russian mafiosos for your sake, vibranium arm and all. The arm was really the biggest stuck point in the conversation as you tried your best to explain the nature of your relationship with the unconscious supersoldier on the couch. It was met with plenty of looks, both curious and skeptical.

You’re slow to hop up on the dusty marble countertop. From there, you watch Bucky poke through the kit that Kiwi had pulled from under the sink.

Then, with the calculated process of a man who has pulled one too many bullets from himself, Bucky slams the kit shut and wanders into the bathroom.

He returns with a pair of large tweezers. He’s silent as the dead as he rummages for a pan, fills it with water, and sets the gas burner on. He stares, watching the pot boil, as his foot taps against the floor.

You swallow down any comments.

There’s a clean towel beside you, and Bucky casually reached into the boiling water with his vibranium hand to retrieve the tweezers — whether or not he purposely ignored the pain is lost on you. You’re too busy anxiously spiraling into silence.

(He’s trying to ground himself, to feel something other than panic. It’s a mild spike, but it’s still panic. Because you’re hurt. Because you still have a fucking casing lodged in your shoulder and he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. Because he saw it happen and then it was black, and now that anxiousness is creeping in.)

Rubbing alcohol, tweezers, gauze, tape, and… Jack Daniel’s.

It’s from the top of the fridge. It’s got a layer of dust on it — and it’s unopened.

Bucky unceremoniously pops the cap and hands the open bottle to you.

You take it and pause.

Bucky’s gaze is cold.

“You’re gonna want to take a few swigs, Doll.”

You almost snarl. You take a long drink then, ignoring the burn of the whiskey down your throat. It’s only when you’ve had enough to nearly gag that you hand the bottle back and then hiss:

“Don’t call me Doll.”

He takes the bottle and unceremoniously slams it down on the counter.

His movements are rough as he washes his hands — and if Bucky was a better person, maybe he’d take a second and parse through why he was feeling so damn irritable. But, no, no, he could figure out that he was angry at himself and you and Alexei Gardzov and Innessa Sidrova and fucking… everyone because he can’t have any normal relationships in his life without there being bloodshed or pain or suffering. That was enough, and he didn’t want to dig deeper into the nipping fear of losing you, not now, not when he had a job to do—

You suck in a sharp breath when his fingers brush your collarbone. He gently moves the delicate strap of your bodysuit, ignoring the soft skin beneath, and pulls the gauze away from your shoulder.

Your jacket had taken most of the impact it seems. Bucky frowns deeply at the pink fibers clinging to the entry wound. It’s a nasty puckered bit of flesh, smeared with blood, right in the soft muscle of your left shoulder. The hole is a little smaller than a quarter — Bucky recognizes it as shot from a 9mm almost immediately. He’s taken a few of these in his days. He’s glad it wasn’t close range. The burns from the muzzle flash make for nasty scars. He’d know. He has one on his back, right above his hip.

Bucky’s jaw is tight. He’s gritting his back teeth. His headache throbs angrily behind his eyes.

Bucky leans, eyeing the wound carefully. His limited reaction is enough to spark a little light of bravery in your gut, and you move to look at the hole — only to find a vibranium hand rooting your jaw in place. It’s gentle enough as it recorrects the line of your gaze straight ahead. His thumb rests on the curve of your chin as his index climbs your jaw, and the vibranium is warm and cold all at once. It’s an odd sensation. Not bad, but not flesh.

You like it.

(You find your mind quickly flashing with the thought of what that hand would feel like in other places. You ignore it.)

Your eyes are stuck on Bucky.

He’s clearly upset — the pinch between his brows and the evident scowl on his lips is enough of an indication. The bridge of his nose is busted and there’s a bruise crawling under his left eye. The shirt you’d given him is a wreck, and as he bends to snatch up a rubbing alcohol soaked pad, the feeling of shame creeps up on you. The anxiousness that’s settled in the pit of your stomach doesn’t help.

Arguably, it exacerbates the symptom.

The whiskey is slow to make an impact.

But, when Bucky finally swipes the gauze across the wound, your ankles have begun to tingle and it isn’t blinding white pain you feel — not yet. It’s sharp and it feels like he’s touching your shoulder blade when he presses his fingers into the holes to clean the immediate area. That has you grimacing tightly.

His obsidian-hued hand holds your face still through it.

So, you opt to stare.

His arm reminds you of some pottery you’d seen back at the Museum of Modern Art once, on a school trip. In a dimly lit room, spotlights lit up a row of vases that had been gilded back together with gold-dusted sap. You’d sat there for nearly an hour, staring at those things. You can’t remember the name now, not while Bucky does one more pass across the wound. It started with a ‘k’. It was beautiful. You loved that exhibit. Why can’t you — fuck — remember the name? Kinsi… kinsigumi? Gumi. Kintsi —

You grit your teeth and grip the counter tightly. He pauses. You exhale.

You inhale.

Kintsugi.

The seams of his arm remind you of Kintsugi.

It’s beautiful.

Bucky’s eyes flit to yours. He sees your stare.

Maybe it’s the pain, or the half-cocked daze, but the look in your eyes is enough to spur an immediate reaction. Bucky scowls. He yanks his hand back, retreating to the supplies on the counter. He’s pulled, hard and fast, and now he seems miles away.

Quietly, and with a bit more chill than he intended, he speaks. “If it was making you nervous, you should have said something.”

It.

Your head snaps to him.

“What?” you ask, nearly incredulously.

He’s silent. He has the tweezers in his hand now.

Your eyes narrow critically — and instead of shame and anxiety, it’s hurt that flies off your tongue. It’s drenched in enough pain that Bucky hears it in the waver of your voice.

“You think I’m afraid of you?”

It’s nearly a whisper.

He swallows.

He ignores it. He has to. He doesn’t want to know the answer. Either way that conversation goes is enough to drag him into territory he can’t handle right now. Not when he needs to do this without his hands shaking.

“This is going to hurt.”

Your mouth is open — be it shock or anger, he’s not sure. Bucky, however, makes a point of ignoring your expression and your reaction by handing over the whiskey once more. You snatch it from his hands quickly. There’s a look on your face that makes his chest ache. With one last pass over him with your eyes, you take a long swig.

You feel like crying.

You won’t, though. Not now. Not while he does this.

You deserve this.

And holy fucking hell does it hurt. It’s like someone’s taken a hot poker and punctured your skin, then rotated it around and around and around. You can feel every time the tweezers touch the bullet because the metallic little click echoes in your chest. It’s enough to make your head spin, and you grit your teeth and close your eyes and try to breathe — but even after a handful of minutes, when Bucky finally retrieves the slug, there’s no relief. Just a desperate throb.

Your hands are shaking when you reach for the whiskey once more.

You do cry, finally, when Bucky packs the hole.

He rolls the gauze up tightly into a cylinder and, as gently as he can, pushes it in.

It’s a horrible choke of pain that you smother into your palm and pant through. It reminds you to breathe, and while you stare up at the water damage on the kitchen ceiling, Bucky tapes a square piece of gauze over the bruised wound and wraps your shoulder tightly. He takes his time, but there’s a curtness to his actions.

Finally, when he begins to clean up the mess of bloodied gauze, you speak.

“If you’re mad at me, then just say it.”

He snaps almost immediately, like a kicked dog. “And say what, Rabbit? That I almost lost you?”

Your mouth slips shut.

Bucky pauses what he’s doing. He drops the gauze onto the towel and he bares both hands against the counter top. He leans and exhales and drops his own head back — then, you can see his own waves of anxiety knocking him against the shore of composure. His eyes move back and forth, he inhales, and then after a long while he speaks.

It’s calmer. Not so horribly mean.

“You should have told me about Alexei.”

You go to speak — but he stops you.

“I mean really, really told me,” he explains, “Had I known he wanted your fucking head mounted on a spike, I would have kept you far away from that place.”

“We had to—”

“No,” he says sternly, standing up full height, “No, we didn’t. We never have to do anything that’s going to put you in danger. Never. I won’t do it again. You should have fuckin’ told me.”

You’re quiet.

“A few more inches to the right,” he says, gesturing to your throat with his finger. His eyes are expressive and he’s speaking like he’s lived this experience, “You’d be dead. Cold and dead and I’d be here, carrying the fucking guilt around with me because I wouldn’t have been able to do anything.”

His voice splinters at the end — but he’s moved to throw away the gauze and dump the tweezers in the sink. He can’t look at you as he says it, and you know that. Because, just like before, people like you and him have a hard time looking the truth in the eyes.

You slide off the counter.

Your heart is sad. It’s heavy and mournful and weighed down with guilt.

“Bucky.”

It’s soft. He’s scrubbing your blood from his hands.

He doesn’t turn around. He can’t. He can feel the prick of an anxious breakdown beginning to climb into his eyes. Instead, he scrubs and scrubs and scrubs and your blood is stuck in the plating of his hand and it’s not going to come out—

Think of what could have happened if it had been a few inches to the right. The arched spray. Blood everywhere. She can’t speak through the gargle, she’s going cold, she’s gone. And, like always, you’re alone again, Bucky.

Then, your hands are on his.

The touch is enough to stop him. It’s enough for him to move aside at the large, inset kitchen sink. You exhale slowly as you run the water a little warmer and gingerly run his hands under the tap. Your hands are smaller than his, a bit more delicate, and he’s stunned into a sharp silence at the feeling of your fingertips gently washing away the crimson blood.

You grab another dish towel from a drawer beside the stove.

Then, in the dim light of the kitchen, you take both his hands and dry them.

It’s the vibranium hand that you pay special attention to, though. And Bucky feels like a fucking idiot — just standing there, just watching as you run the rag between the gilded plating and use gentle pressure to get into the harder to reach spots. You turn it over, and you dry his knuckles.

You take your time.

You don’t look up when you speak. You’re focused. Almost reverent.

He doesn’t deserve this.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you say sternly.

His mouth is dry. “Rabbit…”

Bucky shifts on his feet and takes a deep inhale. He feels lightheaded.

The whiskey, and the closeness of the two of you, makes your skin warm. His whole nervous system feels like it’s on fire.

“I didn’t mean to stare, I don’t ever mean to,” you apologize as your hands still over his arm. He watches your irises trace the plating above his wrist. The rag is forgotten, its purpose null. Your words are heavy, and Bucky can hear a little shake in them as you swallow, “I just… think it’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful.

Even now, blood-soaked and sweat-stained. With makeup running down your cheeks and your composure in shambles. Even now, on the run and apparently wanted, you’re incredibly beautiful. Bucky hates how easy it is to admit and how hard it is to keep off his tongue. It nearly gets the better of him. He watches your eyelashes flutter. When you look up at him, the world is suddenly drowned in honey.

“I’m sorry.”

You mean it.

Your bottom lip wobbles.

Bucky, immediately, regrets being so goddamn cold.

You were just trying to help — you were just trying to do the right thing.

“Stop it. Come here.”

The hug is the first time you can remember touching him like this. You think you’ll always remember it, too. It’s sturdy and warm and gentle and honest and you bury your face into the shoulder as his arms come up around your neck. He’s careful of your own injured shoulder, and his fingers find the base of your neck. Around his waist, your fingers dig into the back of his shirt. Both of you ground yourselves in the other’s arms, and for the first time in a handful of hours, you both find peace.

Quiet, sturdy, lovely peace.

And the two of you stay like that for a while in the quiet little kitchen.

It’s not until Climber’s voice rises from the living room that you’re pulled away from Bucky — and even then, your face linger inches from one another for a moment too long. Neither of you say a word, only swallow down confessions that could have been, and move on.

“Oh, girlie, you’re gonna wanna see this.”

Bucky frowns. With your brows knotted tightly together, you weave through the kitchen and back into the living room.

Kiwi has sat up and both her and Climber have their eyes on the bulky flat screen on the dust-covered entertainment center. It’s cable news, and as Climber leans to turn the television up, a picture of you flashes across the screen.

It’s a photo from your arrest six months ago.

“Local authorities are asking that anyone with information on the whereabouts of this young woman call the FBI’s anonymous tip line—”

“Is there a reward?” Climber whispers almost excitedly, eyes on the screen.

“—Authorities are offering $100,000 dollars to the person who provides enough information to lead up to this dangerous fugitive’s capture.”

“Dangerous fugitive?” hisses Bucky.

“A hundred thousand dollars?” cries Kiwi, “Who the fuck did you piss off?”

You inhale deeply as you wave your hands. “The bigger question is who the fuck knew I was going to The Glass Cannon last night. Because they’re looking for me — not you.”

You point at Bucky and the gears are turning in your head.

The pacing is almost immediate, and Bucky crosses his arms tightly as you begin to walk back and forth behind the full length couch that Climber is currently spread out on.

It’s cut short, though, by Kiwi’s laptop chiming successfully.

“Well,” she stands quickly, “I have a feeling that someone knows you’re onto them. And the facial recognition software just got a match. A three point one, too.”

Your eyes brighten.

You’d given Kiwi the photo of the young Innessa, with all her decorated furs and blonde curls. She’s laughing and she’s young and she’s in love and it’s hard for you to imagine a woman like her to be dangerous. While you’d made sure Bucky was propped up comfortably on the couch and then finally calmed down from the adrenaline high enough to get comfortable yourself, Kiwi had dug out the hard-drive she kept on her at all times and began pulling data from the Alexandria Library files.

It had been a handful of hours, so it was clear that Innessa had hid herself well in the vast, expansive database SHIELD kept for all those years while it was in operation.

Bucky is quick to gather behind Kiwi, eyes scanning the screen.

Sure enough, when you come to look at the photos pulled up on Kiwi’s screen, there’s a hit. There’s an identification card photo of an older woman, maybe in her forties, pulled up alongside the photo Bucky had given you. Her hair is no longer blonde, but deep auburn color. She’s marked as having worked with Rumlow — a supervisor of some sort. Makes sense. You didn’t need to see a picture of Crossbones to remember Brock. Even when you’d interned, he’d been infamous.

And that was when he was one of the good guys.

There’s a handful of other photos of her — candids, professional photos, and even one where she is shaking Tony Stark’s hand.

And in all of them, you see your next door neighbor Bonnie McLayne.

“Fuck.”

Bucky blinks. Kiwi turns to look at you over her shoulder.

Again, you speak. Your eyes are wide. You can’t look away from the screen.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“Rabbit…?”

“Fuck.”

Bucky’s face narrows considerably, confusion melting to make room for realization.

His voice is quiet.

“Do you know her?”

“Oh my god,” you say loudly, shaking your head and blinking, “Oh my fucking god, that’s my neighbor.”

Bucky can feel his whole face go clammy.

“The neighbor who—”

“—Who I showed your fucking picture to,” you nearly shriek, “Like it was some cute little matchmaking game!”

Immediately both hands are over your face as you throw your head back. Now, the pacing has begun, and like you’re being carried on autopilot, you begin to move back and forth and back and forth and—

“You don’t think she’d hurt Poke, do you?”

“Rabbit.”

“Oh god, oh god—”

Oh.

Oh, you’re having a panic attack.

Oh, that was quick. Brutally fast. Nearly immediate.

After all, she knows where your family lives. She gets Holiday cards from mom to give to you. She’s been your closest friend for nearly six years. But she’s not Bonnie, she’s Innessa fucking Sidrova. She’s seen you with Bucky. She knows — she knows a lot and you don’t know anything and you’re miles from home, from Poke, from Mom, from Ana… Oh, god, the baby. The baby.

“The baby.”

Bucky’s voice is level. “Rabbit, you gotta calm down.”

“I have to call my mom.”

“No,” Kiwi snaps immediately, “They’re going to be watching for your cell phone pings. No calls, no texting, none of it. And god forbid this woman is one step ahead of the FBI—”

“Oh, god.”

You gasp like a fish out of water, paralyzing fear sending you to lean against the back of the couch.

You claw at your chest and try to remember what Dr. Hart said about these sorts of moments. Square breathing. In and hold and out and hold. Again and again.  

“Sit down,” Bucky says as he returns to your side, nearly sweeping you up long enough to plop you down into the armchair from before, “And do me a favor and breathe.”

The whiskey isn’t helping right now.

“I’m trying.”

Another gasped breath.

Climber and Kiwi watch.

Bucky shakes his head sternly, kneeling on one knee and snagging your hands. “Don’t try. Just do it. You can do it. Just follow my lead — you’re the sidekick, after all. Remember? C’mon. There’s the smile. Breathe.”

So you do.

In, hold. Out, hold. You draw a square with one hand on your jeans and hold onto Bucky’s with the other.

Again, in and hold. Out and hold.

And again.

And then, you just listen to Bucky’s breathing.

You’re not sure how long it takes — half an hour, ten minutes, who knows — but finally you’re able to calm the spiraling thoughts in your head. Finally, the loudness quiets down, you catch your breath, and the world isn’t falling apart. The bite of anxiety still remains in the hollow of your chest and Bucky can see that when you finally open your eyes and squeeze his hand.

There’s that look again between the two of you. The one from before, in the kitchen.

“Good?” he asks quietly, blue eyes swimming with some sort of emotion you can’t really pin down. Not now. Maybe, if you’d been a bit more collected, you would have seen it as infatuation. But, no. It’s just… nice.

You swallow and nod.

“Damn, girl,” says Climber from his spot on the couch, “Now I’m starting to get the whole therapy thing.”

“Thanks, dickhead.”

“That’s recent, isn’t it?” he asks, genuine worry crossing his face as he stands to gently pass a hand over your back, “I don’t remember it ever being this bad.”

Your face is sad. “I was just partying through it back then. Distraction was always the best method and then… When I had no more distractions and it was just me? Alone? And, psh, the accident with Jaimie? It got worse. So much worse.”

Climber’s eyes soften. “I’m sorry, bunny.”

You try to put on a brave face.

Bucky stands from in front of you and begins his own pacing. This one isn’t so much born out of anxious nature — but more of a tactical logic born out of keeping you safe.

This wasn’t exactly the turn he was expecting.

“You didn’t recognize her?” he asks after a moment, voice high and tight.

“I’m sorry,” you wave a hand, exasperated, “She doesn’t exactly look the same as she did in the 70s.”

Kiwi frowns at the screen. “Definitely botox.”

Bucky squints. He looks to you for an explanation.

You vaguely gesture to your face.

His brow lifts, he closes his eyes, and he sighs.

Kiwi is next to pipe up. “It explains why the feds are looking for you, especially if she saw you with the one man she knows is looking to hunt her down — so, I think it’s best the both of you lay low for a couple of days.”

“Not to mention,” Climber wags a finger, “Bucky the Babe over here did just piss off one the smaller Russian crime families in New York. So, there’s always that ontop of the evil Nazi-HYDRA-woman-next-door.”

You groan.

“Poke has enough food for a week,” Bucky says nearly reading your mind, “He’ll be fine.”

“So, what? We just wait here? Until something happens?”

“Sidrova is going to try and bait us out,” Bucky mutters, “She knows she can’t just disappear. She’s been settled for too long and we know too much. Engaging us in an altercation is how she’ll do it. Plus, I have a feeling she wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to shoot me in the knees after a few decades. So, we wait.”

“Few decades?” Kiwi whispers.

“How old are you?” Climber asks.

“Hundred and six.”

Both of them just blink at an unphased Bucky.

You sigh, finally standing on wobbly legs. “This feels like a bad idea. I’m just stating that for the record.”

“Better than her hunting the both of you down,” Kiwi supplies, “You can stay here. There’s cable, there’s booze, and there’s plenty of instant ramen to last you until winter.”

“Stale cereal, too.”

“Wait— where are you two going?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, “You’re leaving?”

“Keeping our hands clean,” Kiwi says, closing her laptop, “And letting you be the sidekick, bunny.”

The sadness in your heart grows a little heavier at those words, but there’s a little bit of pride in Kiwi’s tone. As she stands, she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle hug. Quietly, she murmurs into your hair.

“Your dad would be proud of you, y’know.”

Bucky watches.

Climber is next, and that hug is bigger, more brotherly, more like sunshine and less like autumn.

“Don’t be a stranger, Rabbit.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out as the two of them gather their belongings, “For dragging you both into this. But, thank you. You didn’t have to help me—”

“Yeah, we did,” Kiwi chirps as she knocks Bucky on the arm three times, “Keep her safe, aakarshak purush.”

The Hindi rolls off her tongue with ease.

Bucky laughs. “Bahut lamba.”

Kiwi pauses mid-step. She narrows her eyes. There’s a smile on her lips. “Your pronunciation isn’t bad.”

He shrugs plainly. “I get lunch almost everyday at the Indian place below my apartment, so. The owner has been teaching me some stuff on the side.”

An approving nod.

Kiwi hucks you the keys across the room.

She points at Bucky.

“I like him. Try not to fuck that up, eh?”

And then, the two of them are gone.

And it’s just you and Bucky in the empty apartment.

[uraveragelonelygay]

Not a Monster

(Not My Gif)

Request: I JUST READ 'ANOTHER LOVE' AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH!!!!! I have always had a similar idea in mind with Natasha and Supersoldier!R, and i've never found a fic like it so I was hoping I could request that from you?? Where Nat is reeling from the rejection of Bruce, then she meets reader and falls in love?? but instead of the grief like wanda, she is just fearing rejection?? ends with r proposing to nat?? 🥺🥺 thank u so much, you're so talented!!

(Side Note: Big thank you to whoever sent this I'm so glad you enjoyed Another Love that makes me so so happy! Just thank you for the support🥺)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: Slight descriptions of a panic attack! Please be safe when reading!

A/N: Okay this got kinda angsty, perhaps a bit angstier than I intended? But never fear, there's also fluff! And a fluffy ending! I very much like this one, actually so there's that. I hope you enjoy!

************************************************************************

Your phone rang loudly, effectively waking you from your slumber. You rubbed your eyes, looking at the caller ID, before picking up once seeing it was Bucky. “I hear you’re free. It’s time to head home.”

You had been in Wakanda for the past two years, working hard, with the help of the Dora Milaje, to rid your mind of its brainwashing. Similarly to Bucky, you were one of Hydra’s prized weapons, injected with the Super-Soldier Serum, and trained (more like brainwashed) to kill. Bucky had worked with you while he was the Winter Soldier, and, once he had received help in Wakanda, he came back for you, bringing you there to be cured as well.

And now, here you were. Two years worth of therapy, research, nightmares, and reliving trauma. And you were free. You were going home. Wait.

“Where’s home?”

************************************************************************

As the jet landed in front of The Avengers Compound, you couldn’t control your nerves. Here you were, about to meet the world’s mightiest heroes, protecting the world from all harm, as yourself, Y/N Y/L/N. Another super soldier assassin of Hydra’s creation. But as you stepped out of the jet, you were almost immediately engulfed in a pair of arms, one flesh, and one metal.

“Welcome home, Y/L/N.”

Bucky had been amazing these past years. Not only had he rescued you from that horrid place, but he was also always there. He answered every late night call, helped you through all the self-hate and doubt, and would even make monthly trips to Wakanda to be a shoulder to cry on when you needed one. He had become a brother to you. You were forever grateful.

You smiled, returning the hug.

“Thanks, Buck. Happy to be here.”

He pulled away to smile at you. “Ready to meet the team and see the place?”

You reluctantly nodded. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

********************************************************************

Bucky led you inside the huge building, while you tried to stop yourself from shaking. What if they hated you? What if they wanted you gone? What if they saw you as Hydra? What if-

“You must be Lady Y/N! It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” A loud voice boomed, snapping you out of your thoughts as you looked at the God of Thunder. Standing next to them were the rest of the Avengers.

Bucky put his arm around your shoulders, sensing your anxiety, and smiled at the group.

“Everyone, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is everyone.”

Steve was the first to walk up to you, extending his hand for you to shake. You tried to hide how touched you were at his willingness to be near you, even after knowing who you used to be.

“I’m so happy to finally meet you,” he said with a smile, shaking your hand enthusiastically, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

You returned the handshake, smiling at the man. “All good things, I hope. And it’s great to meet you, too. Bucky has told me all about you, as well. Thank you for making my best friend so happy.”

Steve blushed and nodded his head. “Of course.”

Following his lead, Thor, Tony, Bruce, Wanda, Clint, and Vision all came up to shake your hand and greet you properly. This left one avenger who had not greeted you. Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow.

She was stunning in person, her beautiful, red hair flowing around her shoulders, and her green eyes sparkling in the light. You were in awe of her. She put that to an end fairly quickly.

She narrowed her eyes at you before stepping forward.

“Great. One of Hydra’s creations. Just what we need to join our team. More people to betray us,” she said with a glare. You looked down at your feet when she said it, so you missed the glare she threw at Bruce as well. And with that, she walked out of the room.

Bucky was appalled. “Y/N, don’t listen to her, she-”

“Can you show me to my room please?” You asked, your voice was shaking, but you didn’t give a shit. You just wanted to lock yourself away.

Bucky sighed. “Of course. Come with me.”

*******************************************************

You hadn’t left your room since you were brought there 24 hours ago.

You were huddled under the blanket, staring at the wall, lost in thought. Maybe you were a monster. Just another one of Hydra’s creations. That’s all you were. You couldn’t believe you had hope that anyone would see you for you and not your past.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

You ignored it, and hoped the person would leave you alone.

Soon, another knock.

You groaned and got up to open the door. “Buck, I’m fine-”

That was definitely not Bucky at the door.

Nat stared at you, but something was different. This time, there was no malice in her eyes. No hatred. Just guilt and remorse.

“Hey. Can I come in? I need to talk to you,” she said quietly.

At a loss for words, you simply step aside to let her enter the room.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot,” she started, and you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped from your mouth.

“That might be because you called me one of Hydra’s creations and then said that I would betray the team…” You said, looking down at your feet after speaking out of fear of retaliation.

But Nat just sighed before sitting down on your bed.

“You’re right. That’s on me. I never should’ve said those things. I’ve been having a rough time and I took it out on you. But still, that’s absolutely no excuse and I’m so sorry. From what Bucky has told me, you’ve worked your ass off to escape your past. I get what that’s like. So, I’m sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me, but of course I understand if not,” she finished, nervously glancing at you.

You look up at her with gentle eyes. “Of course I forgive you. Sometimes things slip out. It’s okay,” you said, before offering her a sympathetic smile. “You’ve been having a rough time? Do you wanna talk about it?”

Nat took a deep breath before practically word vomiting everything that had been going on.

“You know the anxious brunette guy? Bruce?” You nodded and she took that as a cue to continue.

“Well, I’m in love with him. Like so intensely in love. Where I was raised, we were taught love is for children, so I pushed those feelings deep down, until finally I couldn’t ignore them anymore. He had been so gentle with me when I talked to him about my past, and he’s never judged me, and I just...I guess I thought that maybe he felt the same. So, a week ago, I told him how I felt. And he rejected me.” Her shoulders sank at that, and tears began to well up in her eyes.

“I mean, of course he would. I don’t know why I expected anything different. I’m a monster. Who would want to be with a monster. Certainly not a guy like him.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and she angrily wiped them away, before looking up at you, her eyes widening as if she just remembered you were here.

“Oh my god,” she began to ramble, “I didn't mean to throw all that on you, I’m so sorry, just everyone here is friends with Bruce and I don’t want to make them choose a side, and here you are not knowing him well, so I just let it all out and I’m-”

You cut her off, putting a hand on her knee comfortingly. “Natasha, it’s alright. I know we just met, but I’m here for you. And I’m sorry that all that happened. But I will say. You are not a monster. Quite frankly I think anyone would be lucky to have you. Bruce is missing out,” you finished with a soft smile, and she met your eyes, searching for sincerity. When she found it, she smiled back at you.

“Thank you, Y/N. That means a lot.”

You merely shrugged in response, a smile remaining on your face. “Of course, I got your back.”

************************************************************************

And you did. From that moment on, you and Nat were practically inseparable. You spent the majority of your time with her. Your room became a safe space for her. If she was ever sad about Bruce, she knew your door would always be open for her, and your mini-fridge would always be stocked up with her favorite ice cream. You often spent evenings watching dumb romcoms and making fun of them, which is exactly what you were doing when Nat made a realization.

A character on screen had just said something incredibly stupid, causing you to giggle uncontrollably, leaning into Nat’s side as you did so. As she looked down at your bright eyes and soft smile as you watched the movie, she couldn’t help the butterflies in her stomach and the overwhelming urge to protect you. And that’s when she realized something. She was in love with you. Shit.

************************************************************************

Following that night, you began to notice a growing distance between you and Nat. You wondered what you had done to make your best friend want to avoid you. It also didn’t help that you had recently realized you were in love with her.

Without Nat to keep you company, you were rather bored. So, you aimlessly wandered around the compound, when you happened to overhear Nat and Steve talking in the kitchen.

“You want to change your training schedule? Why don’t you want to train with Y/N?” Steve asked, confusion evident in his voice.

“I just can’t be around her, okay?” Nat snapped.

You rushed back to your room, tears forming in your eyes. She didn’t want to be around you. When you got to your room, you went into the bathroom to clean yourself up when you got a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Great. One of Hydra’s creations. Nat’s first words to you rang in your head. She had said she hadn’t meant them. Was she lying? Did she really see you as a monster?

At this point, you were sobbing. Unable to look at your reflection anymore, you walked out of the bathroom and got into bed, wrapping yourself in your covers, hoping to forget about the monster that was yourself.

************************************************************************

Nat felt guilty about the distance she was putting between you and herself. She saw the questioning gazes you gave her during team meetings, and the longing gazes you shot her from the opposite side of the room during team movie nights. She felt bad about distancing herself, but ultimately she knew this had to happen. Anytime she thought about confessing her feelings, Bruce’s rejection flashed through her mind. She couldn’t go through that again. So she had to stay away from you.

She was so caught up in avoiding you and her fear of rejection, that she failed to notice the lack of light in your eyes. She didn’t notice the way your smile no longer reached your eyes, or the dark circles under your eyes. She never considered that her absence from your life could hurt you so badly.

Bucky noticed. One night, following a team meeting, Bucky pulled you aside.

“Y/L/N, you alright?”

You forced a smile, attempting to hide your hurt from the soldier.

“Good as always, Buck!”

He gave you a knowing look. “I know you, Y/N.”

You sighed, knowing you had been caught.

“Listen, Buck, I just...I can’t talk about it right now.”

“Is it Nat?”

Your eyes widened. You knew he knew you well, but damn, he was good.

“Bucky, just don’t okay? I’ll be fine.” And with that, you hurried off to your room to go to sleep, leaving a fuming Bucky behind.

He couldn’t believe you were being treated poorly by Nat. He wouldn’t let that continue.

************************************************************************

“Romanoff!” He boomed, striding into the training room, where Nat was viciously attacking a punching bag.

She looked up at him with tired eyes. “Yes, Barnes?”

He faltered at the look in her eyes, but continued nonetheless. “What did Y/N do to deserve your treatment, huh?”

“Bucky, I-”

“No! I don’t want to hear it. I don’t know what the hell happened between the two of you, but I do know one thing. Y/N is the best thing that will ever happen to you, do you understand that? She is loving, and patient, and so forgiving, even when you don’t deserve it. And here you are, treating the girl like shit! Have you noticed how tired she looks lately? Have you noticed that she barely leaves her room? That she rarely smiles now, but when she does, it isn’t genuine? Have you noticed how much fucking pain she’s in?” He finished, his chest heaving from his outburst.

Nat looked at him with tears in her eyes. She hadn’t. She hadn’t noticed. All this time you had been there for her but now she was neglecting you. She had to make this right.

Without a word, she ran out of the training room, heading straight for your room.

************************************************************************

You were in a dimly lit room, restrained to a chair. One look at the room told you exactly where you were.

“Welcome back, soldier,” a voice boomed, and you looked to see a Hydra soldier sneering at you. “We’ve missed you.”

“Let me go, please,” you begged, but the man only laughed.

“She has become human. We cannot let that happen. This time, you will have one mission. Kill the Black Widow. And you will complete it. Wipe her.”

“NO!!!” You screamed, but the device was already coming down on your head.

Suddenly, the scene changed.

You were in the compound. You looked down to see a gun in your hands.

“You monster,” a familiar voice growled at you, “I knew you would betray me.”

You look up to see Nat, lying on the floor in a pool of her own blood, a bullet lodged in her chest. Her eyes slowly closed.

You screamed her name, but she didn’t wake up. You were all alone. You had betrayed the one person you loved most, and now she was dead. Because of you.

************************************************************************

You shot up in bed, terrified. You clutched at your chest, struggling to breathe. Even so, one sentence kept finding its way out of your mouth: “I’m a monster.”

************************************************************************

When Nat reached your room, she knocked on the door softly. When she didn’t receive a response, she assumed you were asleep. She wouldn’t interrupt your rest, especially since, according to Bucky, you hadn’t been getting very much recently. She began to walk away when she heard it. The phrase she hated hearing exit your mouth. “I’m a monster.”

She opened your door to find you on your bed, repeating the horrid phrase over and over again. You were gasping for air in between repeating the phrase, and tears streamed down your face. You were in so much pain.

She didn’t hesitate to join you on the bed and take your hands in her own.

“Y/N, it’s Nat. I need you to breathe for me, okay? In and out.” She took exaggerated breaths for you to follow along with, and slowly but surely you started to follow suit.

“There you go,” she cooed, “Come back to me, pretty girl. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

You calmed down, sniffling and wiping your nose before looking up at her. One look at her and you instantly remembered your nightmare. You let out a choked sob, leading her to wrap her arms tightly around her.

You fought her hold, trying to get away from her for fear of hurting her, but she held you tight until eventually you relaxed into the hold.

“You can’t...please don’t...I’m gonna hurt you...I’m a monster,” you mumbled, trying to convince her to leave you for her own safety.

But she merely shook her head, running her fingers through your hair with one hand, and rubbing soft circles on your back with the other. “You’re not a monster, malyshka. You are beautiful, and gentle, and kind, and forgiving. You are the most wonderful person I’ve ever met, Y/N,” she said softly.

You pull away to look at her. “Then why did you distance yourself from me? You told Steve you didn’t want to be around me. I thought I did something. I thought you hated me.”

“I could never hate you,” she said quickly, shocked that you would think otherwise.

“Then what is it, Nat?”

Her heart broke at how broken your voice sounded, and she knew she had to tell you. She grabbed your hands and took a deep breath.

“I love you. I’m in love with you, and after how Bruce reacted, I didn’t want to take the chance that you would-”

“I love you too,” you interjected, smiling softly at her. “I mean how could I not? Have you met yourself?”

Nat chuckled softly, in awe of you. “Even after an awful night, you’re still the sweetest person ever. I am so in love with you.”

You look at her nervously. “Can I kiss you?”

She answered your question by making the first move. She leaned in and captured your lips in a soft kiss, both of you knowing gentle was the way to go after the night you had.

When you pulled away, Nat pressed a kiss to your forehead before pulling you into her chest and then lying down with you.

You nuzzled your face into her neck. “I love you, Nat,” you mumbled as you fell into the first peaceful sleep you had experienced in weeks.

She smiled down at you. “And I, you, moya lyubov.”

************************************************************************

Three Years Later

You paced back and forth on the roof of the compound, unable to still your nerves.

“She’s gonna say yes,” Bucky tried, “She’s so in love with you. There’s no way she’ll say no.”

“You think so?” You asked nervously.

“I know so,” He answered confidently.

The sound of the door to the roof opening interrupted your pacing.

There she was in all her glory. A bright smile formed on Nat’s face when her eyes landed on you.

Bucky smiled at how lovestruck you were with her even after all these years. “You got this,” he encouraged quietly before leaving where Nat entered.

“Nat,” you breathed out, still in awe of the woman in front of you.

“Y/N,” she smiled tenderly at you before taking your hands in hers. She sensed your nervousness and looked at you with concern. “Malyshka? Is everything alright?”

You took a deep breath. “Natasha Romanoff, I love you.”

“I love you too, detka,” she answered hesitantly. “What are you-”

You cut her off. “I love you so much. I knew I loved you from the first time we trained together and you apologized for knocking me on my ass even though that was literally what you were supposed to do.”

Nat laughed at the fond memory, giving you the courage to continue.

“I remember when you first called yourself a monster. I couldn’t believe those words came out of your mouth because you couldn’t be more wrong. You are patient, you are kind. You are loving, and strong. You are brave, and passionate, and gentle and smart, and funny, and everything I could ever dream of. Nat, you’re it for me. I’ve known that for a while. So I have to ask you now,”

You got down on one knee and held out a velvet box. Nat beamed at you, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Will you marry me?”

She practically tackled you to the ground, peppering your face in kisses. “Yes, yes of course!” she cried and you laughed wetly, crying yourself now too.

“Well can you get off me so I can put the ring on your finger?” You asked teasingly and Nat laughed, getting off of you so the two of you were sat in front of each other. She held out her hand and you slid the ring on her finger. She leaned forward to kiss you, but both of you were smiling like idiots so it was impossible to continue the kiss.

“I love you, Nat,” you said softly.

“I love you too, Y/N,” Nat said with nothing but adoration in her voice.

You moved to sit beside her so that the two of you could watch the sunset. You cuddled into her side as she wrapped her arm around your waist, both of you so content to be in this moment, together.

You were not monsters. Not in the slightest. You were Y/N. And she was Nat. And that was enough.

[overwatch-does-stuff]

I want HURT/COMFORT! How about Baptiste, Zenyatta, and Ana (all platonic) helping someone who's basically just a very tall, very strong, and very traumatized supersoldier created and experimented on by Talon to recover from... everything? Go as dark or as fluffy as you like!

Baptiste:

Odds are, Baptiste helped the Supersoldier escape Talon in the first place.

He always knew Talon was doing some unethical things behind the curtains. Everybody knew. . . it was just a matter of discovering how far the organization really went.

He remembered being paired with the Supersoldier during some missions and it was in their hesitation to actually fulfill their purpose that he recognized they needed an out.

So after he was able to escape, and after he gained secure footing in Overwatch, he came back for them. He pulled every favor he had with Sombra to get in contact with them and get them out.

Now that they're here, he's their primary medic. He's the only one with any idea of what Talon did to them.

Moreover, he's working with the rest of Overwatch's med team to get the fucked up stuff Talon shoved into the Supersoldier removed.

But the Supersoldier really doesn't like medical procedures, even the helpful ones.

Because of this, and because of his former Talon allegiance, the Supersoldier can't help but associate Baptiste with pain. It's made their relationship difficult.

Baptiste wants to be friends with them, but it's hard. He doesn't know how to face them without feeling the need to apologize over and over again. Maybe someday the guilt will fade.

Until then, he makes sure to get them a coffee or something every time they get through a doctor's appointment okay.

He also steers them towards-

Zenyatta

Although Zenyatta is not technically a professional, he's widely recognized as being the resident mental health expert in Overwatch.

The Supersoldier is. . . nervous. All their life they've been told that Omnics were built solely to start another Crisis.

But they're sick of the nightmares and sick of the panic attacks, so they take up Baptiste's suggestion to go see him.

Immediately his disarming demeanor calms the thoughts racing in their head.

Zenyatta's frame is so. . . gentle. Not frail, but. . . small. Not built for war. And his voice is soft, like the murmur of a river. The Supersoldier feels, for the first time, like they're being trusted not to break something fragile while around him.

(Of course the monk is less fragile than he looks, but in comparison to the Supersoldier's sheer strength and size it certainly does feel that way.)

The talking is more difficult. It's hard for the Supersoldier to sort out their emotions. At first session, they weren't sure they had any emotions at all. By the second session, they had far too many to handle.

Zenyatta noticed that they couldn't keep their hands still during sessions and gifted them their own meditation orb to fidget with. Now they can't put it down.

Slowly but surely they're working through their problems. They're already getting less panic attacks now that they've identified their triggers and have learned strategies to avoid them.

Ana

As far as everything else goes, there's Ana. She was the one assigned to the new recruits- Winston's too nervous, Soldier 76 is too gruff, and Reinhardt's great but asking him to coordinate anything is a losing battle.

She handles the little things, like getting the Supersoldier a room and standard issue uniform.

But she decides that they've had enough uniforms to last a life time. Instead, after the Supersoldier's first week, she introduces herself and offers to take them clothes shopping.

They don't know how to respond. Stores? In public? With people?

So she takes them online shopping instead! The two of them spend hours together picking out different style ideas and ordering clothes. It's difficult finding stuff to order since the Supersoldier is so large, but they manage.

When all the stuff arrives, Ana brings Pharah to help coordinate outfits for them.

The Supersoldier's assigned room is roomier than the one they had at Talon, but it's dusty and frankly quite empty except for the bed (and their new closet full of clothes).

So Ana crochets a colorful blanket for them. (They've never owned anything so soft and colorful. They definitely cry when they receive it.)

Her gift, in turn, inspires copycats. Symmetra is happy to build them some more unique furniture, Mei's happy to donate books, and Lucio gets a whole speaker system set up with an appropriate playlist to match.

The Supersoldier doesn't understand why everyone's doing them favors. . . but it's very nice to be treated like their happiness matters.

[mindingmyownbusiness]

Welcome! If you came here looking for adorable fluff then you’re in the right place, it’s sorta my thing. Mostly oneshots, I don’t do angst unless I fix it, and I don’t do NSFW but I will imply quite a bit in most of what I write. Requests are closed but asks are always welcome. <3

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Rescue - Bucky x Reader Soulmate AU (Series in Progress) You’ve always believed your soulmate was out there somewhere, Bucky not so much. What happens when he finally takes a leap of faith and reaches out to you?

20 Seconds - Bucky x Reader Modern AU You walk out of a dressing room asking if the outfit suits you, but it’s not your friend waiting outside the room like you thought!

Woman - Neighbor!Bucky x Plus Size Reader Modern AU Cleaning your apartment is never fun and you’re almost done when a freak accident brings you face to face with your neighbor and your crush, Bucky Barnes. Will you get a happy ending or will your embarrassment end things before they begin?

Come Back to Me - Bucky x Reader What if Bucky was interrupted in the middle of the Winter Soldier’s trigger words? What would happen and would you be able to get the Bucky you know and love back?

American Booty - Bucky x Reader Who knew Bucky had a jealous streak?

Duet - Bucky x Reader You’ve just figured out that the mysterious voice you hear singing through the vents is none other than the Winter Soldier himself. Now the only question is, what do you do with this newfound information?

Spy vs Spy - Bucky x Reader Modern AU Part 1 (by @true-queen-of-mischief) Part 2 (by yours truly) James Buchanan Barnes is your target. Unfortunately, you also happen to be his. Will you be able to complete your mission or will things be more complicated than either of you expected?

Somewhere Other Than the Night - Rancher!Bucky x Reader Modern AU When an unexpected storm ruins Bucky’s plans for another day of hard work on the ranch you welcome the opportunity to rekindle your relationship in a way you both desperately need.

Reckless - Bucky x Reader Just some fun with tropes: features confessing your love for your best friend during a fight, friends to lovers, and accidentally falling asleep then waking up together.

That One’s My Favorite - Bucky x Reader Introducing Bucky to the glory of Girl Scout cookies turns out to be better than you ever imagined.

Slow Burn - Bucky x Reader Could something as simple as a s’more bring you and Bucky closer together?

Rained Out - Bucky x Reader The camping trip you and Bucky had been planning is completely ruined… or is it?

Stay - Bucky x Reader When you are certain no one notices what you’re going through your favorite supersoldier steps in to save the day.

The Five Times You Caught Bucky Blushing - Bucky x Reader (Series COMPLETE) Bucky was never the type to let his emotions show but when it comes to you he just can’t help himself.

Falling for You - Bucky x Reader Modern AU An unexpected injury gives you the perfect excuse to call on your hot neighbor to save the day.

Inked - Tattoo!Bucky x Reader Modern AU You’re dying to get your first tattoo but your anxiety has other plans. Could your new neighbor be the answer to all your problems?

Body Like a Backroad - Cowboy!Bucky x Plus Size Reader Modern AU Your lonely night takes an unexpected turn when a handsome stranger asks you to dance. (potential series fic…)

TJ Hammond x Reader

Just What You Needed - TJ Hammond x Fem!Reader You’ve had the worst day ever and TJ does his best to lift your spirits.

Sebastian Stan x Reader

Dumb Luck - RPF AU (featuring bonus Chris Evans x Reader) Having a panic attack during your flight wasn’t part of the plan. Lucky for you your seatmates are there to save the day.

Right Place, Right Time - RPF AU A mishap at a fan convention lands you in the arms of the Winter Soldier himself

Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Out With the Old, In With the New - RPF AU Tom loves Tumblr just as much as the rest of us, especially the anonymous bit. What happens when he finds someone online that he wouldn’t mind letting his walls down for?

Jeremy Jordan x Aaron Tveit x Reader

Karaoke Night - RPF AU Jeremy and Aaron have walked into your bar of all places and you can’t resist having some fun tricking them into a bit of karaoke. Will your plan backfire or will this end up being a night none of you will ever forget?

[spooderboyandtincan]

I wish you would write a fic... about the Superfamily 💖

“I want a baby.”

Steve looks up at his husband. “Tony, what the fuck?”

“A-a baby. A kid. A child.” Tony sits next to him on the couch. His eyes are shining with excitement.

“We can’t get pregnant,” Steve points out, turning back to the book in his hands. Tony grabs it and throws it on the coffee table. “Hey!”

“There are other- other options,” Tony says, grasping Steve’s hand tightly and staring into his baby blue eyes nervously. “Adoption. We could adopt.”

The supersoldier sighs, shaking his head. “Tones, we can’t take care of a baby. How about a dog? Or a cat, cats are always-”

“Steve, please,” Tony whispers, eyes suddenly filled with tears. Steve frowns and cups his husband’s cheeks. “I want a baby. Can you just- just please, think about it. Please.”

Steve is so shocked, by Tony’s tears, by the desperate tone in his voice, by the eagerness on every inch of his face, that he nods. “I will,” he promises.

The love, the relief, and the excitement in Tony’s eyes make it all worth it.

~~~~~

At first, Steve thinks Tony has forgotten about the whole baby thing.

He should have known better.

Two weeks later, Tony barges into the training room, breathing heavily, eyes wild.

“Tony, what the hell? What happened?” He hurries towards his husband. In lieu of greeting, Tony shoves a Starkpad into his hands.

“I found him,” he says breathlessly.

“Who?” Steve asks, still eyeing the other man worriedly. He still hasn’t looked at the Starkpad. Tony gestures to it in frustration.

“Our baby.”

Steve freezes. He looks at the pad.

It’s a series of emails from one Mary Parker. Apparently, she and her husband recently split up and she is no longer able to provide for her newborn son.

“Tony, honey…” he says slowly, apologetically. “I don’t know if we can take care of a baby.”

Something in Tony’s face breaks. “Right,” he whispers, more to himself than Steve. “Right, what-what was I thinking? We- I can’t be a father.” Steve opens his mouth, to apologize, to take it back, to do anything, but Tony turns before he can and walks back to the elevator.

Steve blinks back the tears in his eyes. He’s broken something inside of Tony, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. Doesn’t know if he can, really.

He looks back at the Starkpad, re-reading the emails, filled with so much enthusiasm. We would love to adopt Peter! Can we meet him soon? and He’s perfect. He’s perfect for us. My husband and I can’t wait to meet him!

What have I done? Steve thinks.

He scrolls down, and finds a picture of a tiny- literally tiny, the kid could easily fit in his palm- baby, swaddled in a pink blanket with a soft hat on his head. He’s covered in wires and tubes, but even Steve has to admit it- he looks perfect.

~~~~~

Tony won’t talk to him. It’s fair, but it hurts all the same. When they get ready for bed, Tony opens his mouth for the first time in hours and informs him that he’s sleeping on the couch.

Steve knows he deserves it.

The next morning, JARVIS tells him that Tony is in the lab and should not be disturbed. Is it Steve’s imagination, or does the AI sound colder than usual?

They can’t take care of a baby, though. Raising a tiny human for 18+ years? They just can’t do that.

Right?

He pulls up the picture of the baby- no, Peter.

What harm is there in meeting him? he thinks.

Tony ignores the knocking (pounding) on the lab's reflective glass walls until Steve finally shouts “I wanna meet Peter!”

The door slides open. “Really?” Tony says, disbelief clear in his voice.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Yeah, I really do.”

Tony stares at him, then bursts into tears, sinking into his chest weakly. Steve does his best to soothe him before realizing that these are happy tears, relieved ones, and that Tony couldn’t stop crying even if he tried.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” he asks his husband gently. Tony laughs, shakes his head. “Tony.”

“I know, I know. I just couldn’t.”

Steve frowns sadly. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

The billionaire just shrugs. “Maybe you were right.”

“I wasn’t,” Steve says firmly, waiting until their eyes meet. “You’re gonna be a great father. We can do it.”

Tony stares back at him, and Steve realizes suddenly how terrified his spouse is. “We can do it,” he says again.

“We can do it,” Tony echoes, and maybe, just for a second, he believes him.

~~~~~

From the instant they lay eyes on Peter, they’re both hooked. He’s even tinier in person, with rosy cheeks, thin brown curls, beautiful big doe eyes, with ten tiny little fingers and ten tiny little toes.

He has a breathing tube, which nearly sends Tony into a panic attack until Mary explains that it’s only there for a few more days, just in case. Now Tony is terrified that Peter will get sick and won’t be able to breathe, but Mary assures him that he’s been stable for a few days now and should be fine.

Tony marvels at the fact that this tiny human is only five days old. Only five days in the world, and already so much has happened. “He’s beautiful,” he whispers, gazing down into the incubator. Steve squeezes his shoulder.

Mary smiles. “You can hold him, if you want,” she says.

“Really?!” Tony gasps, suddenly filled with excitement and terror. “Is-is it safe?”

“Wouldn't lie to you, would I?” the woman laughs, and plucks Peter out of the incubator. “Here ya go.”

Tony’s hands are shaking as he accepts the baby, cradling the tiny body to his chest gingerly, horrified he might somehow hurt this precious child. “You got it,” Mary says.

Tony looks at Peer- really looks at him, taking in the pale freckles on the bridge on his nose, his cupid’s bow lips, his dainty little eyelashes and his adorable chocolate eyes. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice cracking. “Hi, Peter. Hiya, Pete. I-I’m your dad, baby. I’m Dad.” Tears are streaming down his face, and he sniffs loudly. Peter blinks a little and makes a curious cooing noise. “Sorry, honey. So sorry.” He’s starting to sob now, but he doesn’t want to let his baby go. Steve wraps an arm around his shoulders and grasps Peter’s hand between the pad of his thumb and his pointer finger.

“Hey Peter,” he says. He’s not great with emotions, especially with a stranger around, even though Mary seems like a wonderful woman. “Nice to meetcha, kiddo. I’m, um- I’m your other dad. I’m your Papa.” He’s crying now too. They’re both wondering how they ever could have lived before this sweet child came into their lives, and it’s barely been five minutes.

Tony laughs, sobs, and laughs again. “He’s perfect,” he says to Mary, who has been staring at a painting across the hall politely.

She grins. “Glad to hear it. I’d hate for this little guy to go into foster care. You two seem like you’re gonna be great dads.”

The rest of the hour feels like a blur for the two new parents, the only thing solid each other and their baby boy. They sign adoption papers numbly, Tony still cradling the baby in his arms. They get a quick instruction on how to change diapers, prepare bottles, deal with fevers, earaches, and teething, and then they’re in the car with Happy, Peter strapped into a carseat, finally going home.

They haven’t had time to set up a nursery, really, they haven’t had time for anything. Happy buys them a bassinet, a mobile, and a shit ton of baby food and baby formula.

They sit on the couch together, Peter once again in Tony’s arms, fast asleep. There are going to be a lot of hurdles ahead, a lot of crying, a lot of worrying, but above all, a lot of love.

“I love you so much, Peter,” Tony whispers.

“I love you too, Peter,” Steve whispers.

~~~~~

ST*RKERS DNI

~~~~~

Taglist: @aj-that-person @tonystark-deserves-better @nathaly-ab @skeeter-110 @peter-and-tony-vlogs @teammightypen @joyful-soul-collector @loveliestdisappointment @depuella @scwene-qween @honeythepooh @pixiethefirecat7 @spider-man-lover @jami161 @bringitonvoldie @queen-of-sarcasm-25 @roxy3457 @memilon @iron-loyalty @gralaca @bitchingpretty @pillowspace @thatminecraftgal @clockworkteacup @hatakehikari @wtfischeese @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @skydiving-without-a-parachute @yansi1923 @slytherin-hamilton-life-12  @dead-inside-pt2 @name-me-regret @zanderljones @spidy8664 @hold-our-destiny @tinystark-blog @bittersweetbeneath

If anyone wants to be added/ removed please let me know! (also, i think i missed a few people, and a few usernames have been changed, pop me a quick message so i can add you again!)

[confessionsof-a-writing-freak]

I Don't Wanna Be a Memory

Summary:

“Well, I’m not just your boss!”, Steve hears himself say, “I’m not just your boss. I’m also an omega. And I want you to tell me what to do. Your voice is like it’s permanently in alpha command, and I want you to fucking command me! Because I’m not just your boss. I’m not just an omega. I’m your fucking omega! And I can’t stand you saying my name like you’re seconds away from telling me to get down on my knees because you never do!

And it isn’t your fault! It’s not! You don’t want me anymore, and that’s fine, but my omega hasn’t forgotten, and my heart won’t forgive you for not loving me anymore. So stop. Stop saying my name like you still want me. Because every time you do, I feel like you’ve come back to me, but you haven’t- you won’t! And it’s killing me, Buck.”

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33385405

Rating: Explicit

Ship: James 'Bucky' Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional tags: A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha bucky!, Omega Steve!

Bucky’s voice is the single most dangerous weapon he possesses.

Not the guns, or the knives, or even the years of government-issued muscle memory in hand-to-hand combat could compare the carnage that rubbles and quakes the earth when he says Steve's name.

“Stevie,” Low and silky. Full of authority-full of alpha. But still understanding the difference in rank despite the apparent superiority in designation. Never challenging or speaking down, but fuck did it make Steve want to sink to his knees and watch Bucky fall apart due to his mouth for a change.

“Steve?”

Okay, maybe not the entire earth, but Steve’s world sure feels like it’s been turned on its axis.

“...Steve.”

The worst part of it all is Bucky has no idea. No clue. No motivation! He simply exists and speaks like that with no intention of letting his voice get all severe and appetizing for the purpose of getting Steve’s omega excited for Bucky's alpha.

It’s especially distracting during missions.

Steve’s heart races, his conscious thought nowhere to be found as he conjures up impossible scenarios involving his reformed assassin best friend and naked cuddling.

The second they boarded the Quinjet, Steve had torn the earpiece away as if it had burned him.

Can you imagine leading a team or keeping them safe when every so often your second in command asks for your position, voice rough as he asks Steve for orders?!

Can anyone really blame him for getting lost in the phantom sensations of Bucky saying his name like a secret no one else deserves to know?

He didn’t think so.

That being said, all the control he can muster in order to actually complete a mission evaporates into the wind the moment the dance between life and death comes to a close; every suppressed, shameless fantasy unleashed and unforgiving as they consume his every thought.

Steve is abruptly pulled from his most recent daydream when a cool metal hand taps the back of his wrist twice, “You with us, Steve? I’ve been calling your name for a minute now.”

Quickly, Steve straightens his back and squares his shoulders, meeting stormy grey eyes.

“Sorry, Buck. Had a lot on my mind.”, He says with more confidence than he actually has.

It’s not really a lie. He does have a lot on his mind, all the ways he can find himself face down, ass up on the other man’s bed. Drooling and crying and breathing in Buckys scent with every breath he takes.

Of course, he can’t very well say that, can he?

He was lucky the S.H.I.E.L.D issued, super soldier approved suppressants made him nearly null. He can’t fathom the level of embarrassment that would claim him if Buck- or the whole damn plane for that matter- could scent the desperation, horny inside of him.

Bucky shifts closer, grey eyes softening the tiniest bit with concern, “Is everything alright?”

No.

“Yes, of course, “ He lies, “Just thinking about battle techniques is all. Scouts honor!” Steve makes an odd, incorrect gesture as a mock salute.

Bucky allows a small huff of air Steve recognizes as his poor imitation of a chuckle. There’s a moment of fuzzy pride that nearly causes Steve to purr; happy he brought a smile to the alpha’s face before his stomach drops clear down to his toes as murmured laughter rumbles too close to a growl in Buckys chest.

“My memory may be shit, Stevie, but I know for damn sure you weren’t no boy scout.”

Aaaand there it is.

Stevie.

Steves omega stirs and preens before the captain shoves them back down. Resenting the butterflies crying out in his belly and the urge to beg Bucky to just say his name over and over and over…

“Steve?”, This time, the concern isn’t quite as subtle, “Are you sure you’re alright, pal?” Bucky takes a step closer towards the blonde, drawing out skittish blue eyes, lowering his voice in case anyone was listening.

Again, the omega clears his throat and squares his shoulders.

“Did you want to tell me something, Sargent?”

Bucky opens his mouth, defiance dancing on his tastebuds before something makes him snap it shut, offering a curt nod, “Yes, Captain.” His voice strained, everything he wants to say lodged in his throat.

“I just wanted to let you know that we should be landing in less than 15 minutes.”

Like before, Bucky opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. Choosing instead to take a seat beside his captain, slipping his arms through the provided harness. He gives Steve a pointed look, “We should probably buckle up.”

For a moment, Steve is taken back to the war. When his body was just beginning to react to the serum and the increased suppressants. (The government had taken every percussion necessary to ensure the public wouldn’t know Captain America was an omega.)

After Steve became ‘big’ and outranked Bucky in the military, the brunette never did anything but follow him into the fire. Loyal and boundless. Never questioning his strategies or actions unless it put him in direct danger. That didn’t mean he could keep himself from telling Steve what to do. He just found different ways to do it.

Suggesting tasks, like putting on seatbelts, for instance. Strapping extra weapons to his ankles before handing one to Steve and forcing it into his hands even when the blonde would roll his eyes, whispering his disapproval so only he would hear.

Never raising his voice or permitting his tone to deepen or his scent to take on that spicy, electric feel that never failed to make Steve bare his neck. Never stepping out of line. Never disrespecting or demeaning Steves title. Always in charge anyway.

Bucky doesn’t utter a single command or request, but Steve buckles up anyhow. Drinking in the small, hardly there smile that Bucky offers to the air in front of him, not even meeting Steve’s gaze. And the omega hates the happiness, the relief he feels at satisfying Bucky.

Hates that Bucky doesn’t even have to tell him what to do for him to obey. Hates that he has to obey, even though Bucky doesn’t need him to anymore.

He doesn’t need him anymore...

Bucky still hasn’t said a word when they land, but it’s not like Steve gave him much of an opportunity.

Things have been strained between them since Steve began pulling away. Avoiding Bucky’s calls and limiting their time together.

It was just easier that way. Miserable and lonely, but easier.

The moment the Quinjet is stationary, the supersoldier is up on his feet and stomping down the runway, leaving the Avengers and Bucky behind him.

He needs to breathe.

He can’t breathe!

If he didn’t know any better, he would say he was having an asthma attack. It feels like an asthma attack.

Steve’s eyes sting with unshed tears, taking large gulps of air into his lungs, and it burns!

He arrives at his door by the grace of God, not remembering entering the tower or if he passed anyone on his way.

“Jarvis. Door.” He gasps. Actual fear starting to seep into his bones.

“Yes, Captain Rogers,” The AI responds, the oversized steel doors swinging open.

Distantly, Steve hears the door shut behind him and feels himself settle against a wall. He pushes his back against the surface and tries to even out his breathing. Revisiting everything he can remember about how to resolve an asthma attack.

After several attempts, he stumbles into a somewhat consistent breathing pattern, his chest heaving at a slower rate.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose…

It’s not working!

Steve’s heartbeat only hammers against his chest and neck quicker, his breathing sharply turning back into hyperventilation.

It’s then that he realizes he isn’t having an asthma attack at all. He’s having a panic attack.

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. InthroughthenoseOutthroughthemouth.

Why isn’t this working!?

The blonde clenches his eyes shut, a sob fighting its way past trembling lips. He feels so alone. So unwanted, Unwarranted.

He thinks back to the 40s- back to him and Bucky. After the serum, during the war. Hidden behind the cover of night and an abandoned building at the far end of Base. The first time since the change, his heart felt like it would crawl its way up Steves throat and swan dive right off his tongue.

Struggling to ease the fogginess in his mind, Steve remembers strong arms wrapped around his waist. Cool metal poking his nose as he bumped Bucky’s dog tags with each of his movements, scenting warm flesh.

Bucky’s voice is rumbling demands, his voice leaving no room for argument while every word was also laced with patience and love. Scent projecting love, understanding, I’m here, you’re safe.

“In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”

He repeats the mantra until Steve’s Omega obeyed his alpha, sucking in lung fulls of oxygen and releasing it in time with Buckys orders.

The memory of bombs and gunshots lost behind the sound of Bucky’s voice.

In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

He conjures up the memory of Buckys voice, coated in alpha command, urging him to breathe evenly. Fingers digging into Steve’s flushed skin, grounding him.

His alpha always knows what he needs...

Steve misses him.

Misses more than just the raw irrefutable attraction that got them into more trouble than it should have growing up. But he misses the rest of him too.

Misses the smirks and the long nights dreaming of what the future would bring. He misses Bucky’s laugh. God, he can hardly remember what it sounds like now.

Steve misses the way he would kiss. Gently. Chaste. Rough. Long. Kiss him in private and kiss him places that weren’t safe. On the stoop in front of their apartment, before the sun would come up and wandering eyes could catch them. Or alone in their bedroom, lips starting on his eyelids, across purple bruises, then down to his chest. Swallowing the omega’s moans and grinning into his mouth before settling beside him and chuckling deep into his ear, the last thing Steve would hear before sleep would overcome him. He misses the way Bucky would say his name like a prayer, wrap his lips around every letter like a caress, eyes sparkling with their love.

He misses knowing he’ll never be alone.

His heart thunders in his ears, chest feeling seconds away from crumbling in on itself as he thinks maybe it was easier when he believed the alpha was dead. Before he found out Bucky was alive, he mourned the man who loved him. Now, he grieves the love he’s lost. The alpha- his alpha-standing beside him without an ounce of affection or desire in his eyes.

Bucky wasn’t mourning the loss of Steve because he didn’t want Steve. Not anymore.

He clearly remembered enough. He may remember it all. However, knowing didn’t mean he had any intention of returning to what they had.

But even if every memory was gone, if the omega mattered at all, Bucky would remember him- his soul! If Steve himself were robbed of his past and they were just meeting again for the first time, he knew his soul would remember Buckys. Would want to know him all over, not needing to understand why!

The tears are falling before Steve has the chance to notice. A jagged whine barreling past his lips. All the weight of devastation and loneliness finally falling onto his shoulders.

Bucky had met him again. But he didn’t need him the same. Didn’t know his Omega; he didn’t want his heart.

Steve slumps further against the wall, blonde hair drenched in sweat, hands clawing at his chest, trying fruitlessly to manage his racing heart.

Closing his eyes, the omega summons an image of Bucky smiling reassuringly, soothing him as he tells him what to do.

In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

Okay… okay. That’s better.

“It hurts to think of you,” The omega confesses to no one, the tears running past his chin onto his suit. But I need you, “And I can’t breathe without you.”

“In through your nose. Out through your mouth. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. I’ve got you, Stevie. In and out. That’s it. In through your nose. Out through your mouth.”

Steve allows himself to sink deeper into his fantasy, swearing he could actually feel Bucky's hands running down his back and through his hair.

“I’ve got you, Stevie.”

It’s the last thing Steve hears before he passes out.

***

Steve is warm.

Steve’s bed has always been too soft, even after Sam suggested a firmer mattress. While helpful, he still couldn’t manage anything better than a fitful half-sleep most nights. He knew why, but in an effort to avoid further misery, he chooses not to dwell too much on that matter.

Aside from the too-soft mattress and the alpha missing from his bed, the omega was never warm enough. He shivered and reached out for body heat too far from his reach. But…

Steve is warm...

For a moment, he swears arms are around him.

And for a moment, he doesn’t care who they belong to. Because he isn’t shivering, for once. Isn’t suffering through another cold sweat, and the omega constantly pacing within him is actually settled. He hasn’t been this comfortable since the previous century, so whoever the hell is beside him can very well stay where they are, as long as he can keep this feeling.

It’s with another breath, he feels consciousness slowly creep up on him.

He almost laughs at the thought of being comfortable in anyone else’s arms. Of course, Bucky should have been his first thought, but honestly, at this point, Bucky willingly in his bed was a cruel dream.

Bucky must be using the same blockers Steve does. His Omega can’t scent him even this close, but who else’s arms fit so perfectly around him?

It’s the closest they’ve been at all since rescuing Bucky from Hydra, and Steve hated it as much as he loved it.

He wants to go back to sleep. Wants to bask in the warmth Bucky offers and pretend they’re back in their tiny apartment in Brooklyn. Struggling to make ends meet and unplagued by the horrors of war. Hidden from the world behind wilting wallpaper, sharing sweet kisses and bruising grips.

But this isn’t 1939. Bucky doesn’t share his bed...or his affections.

He would give anything to go back. He’d give anything to have his alpha again.

“I didn’t know you still had panic attacks.”, of course, Bucky noticed he wasn’t asleep anymore.

Steve feels him shift away, the arm around his waist, already feather-light, hardly there.

The omega within him whines, not wanting him to pull away. No, he wants him to climb on top of him. To drop all of his weight onto Steve’s hopeless body, make him stay in place. Unable to move until Bucky tells him he can...

Steve clenches his eyes tightly, suppressing his every unrelenting instinct from manifesting into something that will only push Bucky further away. And he needs him. Steve needs him, even if it is killing him.

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot you don’t know about, Buck.”, the omega remarks, his back still firmly pressed to Bucky’s chest.

Bucky may be ready to move, but Steve certainly isn’t. It’s not like the Alpha will say anything. Steve is far from perfect, despite whatever bullshit the news wants to feed the public. Steve is flawed and can be as selfish as anyone else. There are times where he permits his gaze to linger longer than it should, hands lazily pulling back when they should’ve never left his side, to begin with, or say Buckys name in the dead of night, surrounded by nothing but darkness and the sticky evidence of his spent weaknesses.

In private or in front of the alpha, Steve has toed the line of what is appropriate between friends and behavior shared between lovers.

Bucky has never reacted to any of it. Robotic and perfect all at once. His responses are exactly what they’re supposed to be, feeling false all the same.

Never contesting. Never reacting. As if Steve doesn’t ache for him.

It’s then that the confusion begins to twist at the recess of the omega’s mind.

“Why are you in my bed, Buck?” And how can I keep you here?

There’s a beat of silence, Bucky’s breath even beside Steve’s ear. It almost feels rehearsed, as if Bucky is concentrating on his breathing. Steve shakes the thought away before he can fool himself for the millionth time something is there that has proven again and again to be long ago dead.

“I was worried about you,” Bucky eventually admits, the arm just barely resting on Steve’s hip returning to its previous pressure, fingers hot and electrifying as they accidentally meet bare flesh peeking beneath Steve’s sleep shirt.

Sleep shirt?

“Did you change my clothes?” Steve says without thinking, saying anything to stop himself from moaning. He can’t remember the last time Buckys hands were this close to his body without explosions and frantic shouts playing in the background.

He turns his neck enough to meet Bucky’s clouded grey gaze.

A gasp falls from his lips instinctively, his own eyes widening on their own accord, taking in the receding blood red only just beginning to fade from the alpha’s eyes.

Just like that, Bucky is removing his arm entirely, releasing the Omega and taking all of that delicious warmth with him.

Bucky stays on the bed, though. His back resting against the headboard.

Steve just narrowly stops himself from shouting, ‘No! Stay, please!’, his heart pounding in his ears and his hands burning with the desire to reach out and drag the other man in.

Instead, he swallows his cries and urges his weary muscles into a sitting position, facing away from the former assassin.

While Steve was changed into something more comfortable than his uniform, the omega notices Bucky remains in his clunky tactical gear, down to his boots.

He had no intention of staying, Rogers. Take deep breaths, and give him an out.

He just needs to go.

The blonde is good at pretending. Well, most days anyway, he can fake a smile when the world is falling apart; he can pretend to be happy. But what he can’t seem to do anymore is pretend that he isn’t painfully in love with the man currently sitting on his bed, not a single reminisce of what they once were hanging between them.

He can’t manage a smile or a whisper of optimism when everything good has been taken from him. He knows what’s expected of him, but there are days when the sorrow is crippling, and he feels weaker than he ever did as that little guy from Brooklyn.

Clearly, no more talking is going to happen. And Steve isn’t emotionally stable enough right now to act as if he doesn’t want the alpha to bathe him in his scent, forcing the lingering panic, unwell, lonely away.

He moves to stand when,

“Rest.”

The order is sharp and certainly unintentional.

The shiver that races down Steve’s spine is violent, and his body locks up, ready to obey.

Turning his neck again, Steve catches the profile of the alphas annoyingly handsome face. His eyes are closed, brow pinched in concentration.

Steve stands slowly, hands shaking. It’s sickening how dreadfully good that single word made him feel. Floaty and sated. His blood, always raging, rushing, and crying out, settles within him, preparing to be taken care of.

The logical part of him reminds the omega they’ve been here before. Bucky will do something so woefully familiar, he dilutes himself into thinking he’s still wanted.

It’s never the case.

Steve keeps the hope from his tone when he challenges, “Excuse me?” Waiting for another command with bated breath.

“You should probably rest, Cap,” Bucky folds his arms across his broad chest, still ignoring Steve’s previous question as well as his gaze.

Forcing a smirk that makes him want to throw up, Steve teases, “Are you avoiding my question, Sargent?”

“Steve,” Bucky objects, voice chastizing.

Something uneasy burrows into Steve’s stomach, his body rejecting the discontent emanating off Bucky's skin.

He shrugs away the urge to whine, instead offering an ingenuine chuckle, “Jeez, I’m fine. Why so serious, Buck?”

Bucky stands, eyes hard, glaring right into Steve’s soul. The blonde sucks in a harsh breath, his fingers tingling and breath shallow.

Bucky’s eyes are red.

“Why so serious? “ The alpha growls, not moving from his spot beside Steve’s bed. The distance separating them not making sense in contrast to the intimate edge heavy in the air. It would be comical if not for the current sparking the negative space.

“We’re just gonna pretend like I didn’t find you seconds from passing out less than an hour ago? Is that something casual, am I supposed to just ignore it?”

Steve’s plastic smile fades, a tired expression painting his sharp features, “Yes. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.” He sighs, scrubbing his face in frustration, “Ignore it. Like you ignore everything else, Bucky...Just go.”

“What’s tha ‘posed to mean?”

“It means I’m sorry you had to see that, but you don’t have to worry about it.”

“See what? You being irresponsible?”

The thin scrap of patience the omega has evaporates; actually, it burns the fuck up, raging as loud as Steve’s fury, “Irresponsible!?”

The anger shoots through Steve like a wildfire, his temperature rising and his hands balling into fists. If the Alpha didn’t know any better, he’d think Steve was going to punch him.

Even so, he doesn’t back down. Instead, he takes a single step towards the blonde, body tight and rigid. Voice booming when he sneers, “Yes, goddamn it! Irresponsible.”

“Fuck you, Bucky!” Steve shouts, “Who the hell are you to lecture me on being irresponsible?”

“I’m your… I’m your second in command, and if you were struggling with PTSD, you should have told me something! Instead of me following you to your rooms and basically threatening Jarvis into letting me in. You were pale, Steve. Snow White ain’t got shit on how you looked- you were nearly blue! And I’m sorry for stepping in. We can blame it on your biology, but you finally managed to relax when my alpha came forward. It’s irresponsible to let yourself get to that point when you could have come to me- or, or anyone in the avengers for help.”

“You’re sorry,” Steve scoffs, “ You’re sorry you had to help me.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Oh, but it’s what you said, isn’t it?” The Omega is nearly in hysterics. Half sad laughs, the only thing keeping him from crying.

“Steve...”

Buckys voice is now soaked in concern, the anger lost behind wisps of worried seeping from his concealed scent. Which serves only to break Steve further.

“Stevie.” Bucky repeats, wondering if Steve was spiraling into another panic attack.

He is only two steps away from him in a second, twitching, never touching but always close.

Steve feels another shock rack his entire body. His name falling from Bucky’s lips so effortlessly. The authority he holds swallowing every syllable. The sheer force of it nearly brings the omega to his knees.

Steve's heart pounds against his chest, like his heart is trying to escape. Running both hands across his face, then over tufts of blonde hair, his hands meeting behind his neck craned up towards the sky. Praying to anyone up there with mercy that Bucky will just leave. He keeps his arms where they arm before he can do something stupid like reach out.

“Bucky, why are you so concerned about it?” Steve’s eyes are still trained to the ceiling.

Steve knows he’s playing with fire. Playing with his own emotions, but sometimes he can swear he lives for it.

Bucky hesitates, watching Steve with careful eyes. “Because…You are our Captain and my best friend. If you need help, I am going to help you.”

The finality in his tone almost sounds like an alpha command, but his words contradict any sense of attraction or desire.

Another huff, gaze and arms dropping, “I’ll be fine once you leave.” Steve counters, harsher than he intended.

But fuck if he cares. Bucky doesn’t want him. He deserves to be a little angry. If he can’t grieve him, he can at least have this!

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” He snaps, “Just leave, James.”

“James? Oh, I’m James now?”

Steve could care less if he’s hurt his feelings. He’s had enough. His heart hurts, and his head aches. He is done playing this ‘I’m okay with everything’ game.

He is not okay with this, Dammit!

His heart is broken. Shattered. Irreplaceable. And he’s just supposed to be okay with that? He’s supposed to be Bucky’s friend and make jokes and smile when he is dying inside? Crying for his alpha- for stability when he feels like his whole world has been rocked?

Well, he’s had enough. He’s behaved for 2 years. He’s done!

Clenching blue eyes shut, Steve feels every carefully constructed wall of deception crumple at their feet.

“I don’t have time for this. Just leave so that I can breathe! I can’t breathe with you here!”

“Stevie…”

“Please,” the omega whimpers, all the fight leaving his body, long pale fingers running through sleep tousled hair, pulling at the roots, “Just stop.”

“Stop what? I can’t stop doing something if I don’t know what it is I’m doing!”

It’s Bucky’s turn to be panicked. In two strides, he’s in front of Steve, feeling the alarm creep up his chest, a flash of something sharpening eerie grey.

“Steve! Answer m-” Bucky lifts his hands as if to reach out for the other man but catches himself before metal could find flesh, “Will you tell me what I am doing wrong?”

Steve wants to cry and scream and rip that stupid mental arm out of its socket just so he can slap Bucky with it.

“Stop!” He repeats desperately, “Just stop! Stop saying my name! Stop talking to me like-like…”

“Like what!?”

Taking a calming breath, Steve forces himself to meet the alpha’s eyes, “Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to give you orders and never receive a protest in return?”

There’s a beat of silence accompanied by a blank expression. Steves heart shouting in his chest.

“...What?”

Steve continues, “Telling you what to do and how to do it. At least before you would fight me, yell at me. Make it easier to breathe.”

“Steve, what the fuck are you talkin’ about? You’re my boss. I’m s’posed ta take orders from ya.” Steve just about weeps when the Brooklyn accent begins to peek through, just as it usually does when Bucky is confused.

“Well, I’m not just your boss!”, Steve hears himself say, “I’m not just your boss. I’m also an omega. And I want you to tell me what to do. Your voice is like it’s permanently in alpha command, and I want you to fucking command me! Because I’m not just your boss. I’m not just an omega. I’m your fucking omega! And I can’t stand you saying my name like your seconds away from telling me to get down on my knees because you never do! And it isn’t your fault! It’s not! You don’t want me anymore, and that’s fine, but my omega hasn’t forgotten, and my heart won’t forgive you for not loving me anymore. So stop. Stop saying my name like you still want me. Because every time you do, for precisely one second, I feel like you’ve come back to me, but you haven’t- you won’t! And it’s killing me, Buck.”

Steve’s eyes are misted with tears, his chest heaving and skin flushed with embarrassment and shame, “Please… Just don’t say my name, or I’m just gonna break.”

The words pour from his lips, and he wants to disappear. He wishes the ground would just swallow him whole and save him from Bucky’s response.

Steve trembles beneath stormy grey, choosing instead to watch the ground. His omega whining and clawing at the back of his mind.

“I can’t do this anymore, Bucky.” He murmurs, waiting for the outrage or worse; the indifference-the clunk of footsteps walking away from the mess he’s made. The life they had. The man he no longer loves.

Steve hasn’t found his eyes again. Won’t move his head. He doesn’t care how submissive it makes him look because he’s spent most of his life searching for steel grey eyes in crowds and across rooms. Seeking them out in the dark, the only beacon of light he would see most days. And now… Now those eyes that kept him so safe when the world was crumbling around them made him feel like winter on a summer day, cold and alone, only seconds from melting into nothing.

He’s not sure how much time passes without a word between them. He waits another moment before surrendering a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, shaking his head and turning to leave.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he couldn’t stay here.

Like lightning, Bucky’s right hand snaps forward, catching the omega’s wrist before he can make it far, and just like electricity, a jolt of fire scorches where their skin meets.

As one would an old friend, Steve invites the sensation to consume him, feeling every nerve respond to Bucky, it’s like he was brought back to life, and he wants nothing more than to cry because he knows it won’t last. He knows as soon as the alpha lets go, he’ll return to reality as only half a man. Something-someone always missing from him.

“Steve.”, his breath hitches, and his hands shake. A whisper of a scent he’s all but forgotten seeps into the room, but it’s gone before Steve can determine if it’s only a memory.

Steve’s name rolls off of Bucky’s tongue too easily. Too pretty. Too dark. Too much!

Jesus!

Hadn’t he been clear enough the first fucking time? How else exactly was he supposed to phrase it; ‘Don’t say my name, or I’ll break from how horny it makes me?’

“Steve,” The alpha repeats.

Steve feels another pang of electricity shoot to his fingertips, itching with the need to just touch, “Bucky, I think you should leave.”

He doesn’t want him to. But when was the last time Steve got what he wanted.

“Now,” He adds after another second passes. Bucky's feet were firmly placed on the ground, not a single muscle prepared to even twitch.

The room is blanketed in heavy silence before, “No.”

Steve feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him. His lips part in surprise, brow furrowed as his heart begins to pick up the pace.

“Excuse me?”

“I hate that I can’t scent you,” The alpha announces, talking slow, calculated steps forward, eradicating any space brave enough to separate them,

“I hate that I can’t tell where you are during missions.” Suddenly Bucky’s grip loosens, yet it doesn’t move far. He runs his hand up Steve’s forearm, fingertips dragging across perfect porcelain skin, not stopping until the palm of his flesh hand rests on Steve’s neck.

“I picture what it would feel like to sink my teeth into your neck and keep you there, with my fangs in your flesh, drawing blood from your skin and moans from your lips. I dream of you whimpering, “ He whispers harshly, eyes trained to Steve’s neck.

The omega’s eyes flutter closed, lips trembling around the alpha’s name, “Bucky,”

Ignoring the blonde, the other man continues, not quite done yet, “I defend those thoughts by saying to myself, it’s all so that I can feel you. So I can feel where you are when we’re in the field. So I won’t worry as much, won’t get distracted. But I know it’s just half of it. I know I want to tell you to take those damn blockers off. To wash it away, or let me lick it away with my tongue-whichever came first.”

“I hate that I want to fall asleep with you curled above my chest because you’ll be warmer that way. And for whatever reason, I remember you always being cold before bed. I want to demand you buckle up and wear extra layers. I want you to fight me a little. I want you to tell me to shut up but get all soft when I give you a hard look. Like, you are now, with my chest touching yours, hands at your neck and waist. Your heart stuttering against me. I want you to tease me because you want me to get annoyed so that I tell you to shut your mouth and put it to good use. I hate that I want to do all these things, but I can’t. Because you don’t want me to...”

Blue pop open, held hostage by grey. Bucky is everywhere. His face is so close Steve can feel every breath the alpha takes fan over his eyelashes. His eyes tracking over the curve of pink lips and soft skin. Left arm curled around Steve’s waist, metal grip unmoving. His other hand still firmly placed over his scent gland, Bucky’s long fingers spread over the column of flesh, thumb running back and forth along the length of it, causing goosebumps to follow his trail of fire.

Steve moans at the sensation, baring his neck so Bucky has the access he would need. His legs nearly giving out beneath him, but the arm at his waist won’t let him fall.

“Are you telling me that you want me to?” Bucky presses. His voice is sharp and promising. The hand around Steve’s neck, a light pressure the omega finds himself pushing into.

“Steve! Look at me. Look at me, omega.”

The blonde hadn’t noticed his eyes fluttering shut again, the sensation of being held, of having so much alpha- his alpha right there in front of him. Soaking him in his scent. Not a true claim or even a scent mark, but this is more than he ever thought he would ever get again.

Bucky’s words have barely registered for the omega; he lost the ability to comprehend English the instant Buckys hands found his body. But he reacts to the order, all the same, seeing the steely, beautiful grey (beginning to tint red again) he has known since he was a boy.

Slowly, so slowly, Steve begins to piece together the things Bucky has confessed, his eyes once more welling with tears.

Patiently, Bucky waits for the understanding to reflect in sapphire eyes, speaking only when he knows the omega can now retain information.

“Are you telling me you want me to touch you, Stevie?” Bucky murmurs, staring at Steve’s bottom lip.

“Yes,” He breathes, just barely audible without an ounce of hesitation.

The next thing Steve knew, Bucky had him against a wall. His nose buried in his neck and his hands rounding his ass, using his shoulders to pin Steve to the wall and lift his legs until the omega joined the program and wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist. Bucky’s hardening cock pushing into his hip.

“Oh shit, Buck!”

“ I have to say your name,” Bucky growls, grinding into his omega.

“As much as I can, even if it doesn’t work in the conversation, because it’s the closest I can get you in my mouth. It tastes like heaven, and memories I can’t decipher are real or just fantasy they- Oh, fuck baby. Yeah, Stevie- They don’t compare to this- Keep moving, just like that, babydoll.”

Steve ruts against Buckys friction, his eyes closed tightly, whatever was left of their blockers bleeding out, replacing the neutral aroma in the room with their combined scents, desperation, and slick.

“God, Bucky. I missed you so much. I’ve been so alone.”

Buckys mouth finds Steve’s trembling lips, nothing subtle or slow about his movements. The alpha’s tongue swallows the moans tumbling past Steve’s lips. Hands gripping his waist tighter.

The sun bursts behind their eyes. Blood rushing and hearts bumping to twice their regular speed. For different people, people who aren’t Steve and Bucky, a first kiss after so long should probably be slow and tentative, something soft and building. But they aren’t different people. They are too broken and too powerful and undeniably deserving people who have had nothing to count on besides one another their entire conscious lives. To entertain even a second of not indulging in hard, fast, desperate supersedes unthinkable and settles somewhere over cruel.

“Never again, Stevie. I ain’t leaving you alone” another thrust, “Ever, “ another bruising kiss, “Again.”

Bucky’s cock strains against his uniform, desperate for Steve’s hole. Steve is a withering whimpering mess, drunk on Buckys scent and high on all the delicious friction causing his weeping cunt to flutter, uncomfortably empty.

After several more minutes of making out, Bucky moves them back to the bed, lying Steve out on the mattress. He only has a fraction of a second to admire the work of art that is Steve Rogers sprawled out and waiting to be fucked when Steve’s hands are at his neck, pulling him back in.

His lips move against the alpha’s sloppily, sucking on his bottom lip until the ex-assassin growls impatiently, searching for his mate’s tongue. His mate…

His mate. Steve thinks he may cry as the sheer relief almost painfully washes over him. All of the uncertainty and shame of being unwanted melts away, and all that surrounds him is the vibrating want, mine, love, love, love from the man above him, trailing scorching hot kisses down his neck.

“I wanna be ‘side you, baby. Please, Steve. Let me, ugh, please, babydoll. Can I-”

“Yes!” steve interrupts, “Yes, Alpha, you never have to ask! I’ll do whatever you ask, oh just touch me, Bucky, alpha, my alpha, touch me-”

“Shh, “ Bucky chuckles, stopping the omega’s rambling. He runs his flesh hand through disheveled blonde hair, dragging his nails through Steve’s scalp and marveling at the hiss the omega releases, “I’ve got you, Stevie. All I needed was a lil consent, then all bets are off, aren’t they? ‘Cause you’re mine now, aren’t you, baby?”

“Always have been, jerk. I never stopped.”

“Good. Now, stop touching me.”

With a whimper, Steve can’t stop his hands from frantically clawing every inch of Bucky he can access.

“Now, babydoll, don’t you wanna be good for me?”

Still clutching one hand around Bucky's thick, muscular biceps, the other pulling at the strands of dark brown hair helplessly, “I can be good,” the omega babbles, “I’ll be good, Alpha. So good, I can be good, so so good. Please-”

“ Then listen to what I am telling you. I won’t repeat myself again, Steve. It’s my turn now. I wanna get my mouth on you, and I can’t do that if you keep pullin’ me back up to kiss. So stop touching.”

The moan that stutters past Steve’s lips would be embarrassing if not for how fucking fantastic it feels for Bucky’s alpha command to slam into him. Paralyzing him in place. Hands falling unceremoniously at his sides.

Crystal blues brimming with tears, he feels safe for the first time since coming out of the ice- he feels familiar. Not somewhere foreign with no understanding of anything besides, fight this, kill that. This is different. This is them. This is intimacy- their intimacy.

There’s trust swimming within the negative spaces Bucky extends, and he knows, to his core, he can let go. Steve surrenders all his false smiles and exhausting positivity. This is home. Bucky is home. He doesn’t have to put up a front because his alpha has it handled.

Steve isn’t Captain America or some beacon of hope. He’s just Steve, Stevie. Bucky's Omega.

He’s unsure how much time passes or where it went, to begin with, but his body sinks deeper into his mattress, feeling entirely boneless.

“You okay, baby?” Bucky’s husky voice breaks through the fog, “I lost you for a second there.”

Steve feels himself come back, callused hands running through damp blonde hair.

“Mmm,” he hums.

“You spaced a little, Stevie. You’re so beautiful when you get all soft for me. But you’re back now, aren’t you? Look at you. So perfect. Pretty, perfect omega-mine. Kept your hands at your side the whole time too. Such a good boy. You’re gonna keep your hands right where they are, Stevie. Don’t you move a fucking inch. I’m going to lick you open now, babydoll. And you’re gonna come on my tongue as many times as I want you to. Because I’ve gone 70 years without you, and I’m goddamned starved” Bucky’s voice goes from soft praise to near feral growls. His voice sending nothing but jolts of electricity down Steve’s spine, another wave of slick slipping down his thighs.

Before the ‘please’ has the opportunity to touch Steve's mouth, Bucky's hot, slick tongue finds his pulse point, just mere inches from his mating gland.

“Bucky!”

“I want this off!”, The ex-assassin grunts, in one swift move yanking the crisp white shirt from Steve's chest.

“Oh!”

Bucky backs up to lean on his knees, eyes tracking over pinkening skin. Steve’s own gaze glides over now exposed skin. Steve tries to finger out when he removed his clothes but falls short.

After so long without Buckys tenderly harsh commands, falling into space came a little easier than he would have thought. Overwhelmed by the unanticipated satisfaction.

“Open your eyes.”

When had Steve closed his eyes again?

“There you are, dolly. Keep those pretty eyes on me, okay? Always on me, baby.”

Rough, mouthwateringly calloused hands find the waistband of Steve’s pants and yank down in one fluid motion.

The blonde hisses for a moment at the sudden cold air biting his skin, but it only lasts a moment before he’s screaming.

“Fuck!” Steve throws his head back in favor of making sounds even a prostitute would blush at.

One moment Bucky’s on his knees, eyes predatory and sinful, calculating all the things he could do to the man shivering beneath his gaze, the next finds him throat deep, swallowing down Steve’s sweet omega cock, slurping up his precum and getting high off the scent of slick so close to his nose.

Steve can’t breathe.

God! It’s too much. It’s so good. It’s too good!

Steve can feel the familiar pull of an orgasm tugging inside of him. The corners of his closed vision whitening out around the black, lacking the energy to even feel embarrassed by how quickly he’s reached his pinnacle.

Pulling off agonizingly slow, Bucky lets his tongue harshly lick along Steve’s little shaft and twirl over his tip, remembering- fucking remembering! All the sounds and glazed looks elicited from the man below him in the past.

Grey eyes flick up hungrily, ravenous for a look into perfect crystal eyes; he can remember the glazed debauched expression that could devour Steve’s pupils, but it’s not enough!

He wants the real thing.

He wants something tangible and alive in his hands he can never again confuse with desire. Something he’s sure happened, a gift Steve is willingly offering instead of a snarled half-memory he can’t allow himself to believe.

“I-ugh! I’m gonna-“Steve stutters, toes curling and knees bending, framing Bucky's face between his thighs. His hands twitch beside him, but he doesn’t dare move them.

“Oh!”

It should have been a cry of ecstasy.

Should have been the Yellow River Flood; relentless and relieving. No survivors.

Instead, Steve is left with his chest heaving violently. Gasping for air just as he did when he was small.

The omega hears Bucky tutting before he manages to pry his eyes open. Immediately recognizing his mistake before the words fall from cum slick lips.

“Oh, baby. You were doing so good.”

“Nno! Buck, please!”

“Shhh, What did I say, dolly?” Bucky replaces his mouth with one strong hand, lazily jerking at Steve’s straining cock.

He’s smirking when Steve hisses beneath him and hums in approval when his hands stay at his sides.

“F-Faster! Please, Buck! Goddamn it, stop teasing’ me.”

“What did I say, Stevie?” Bucky repeats sharply. His movements slowing further.

Steve’s omega cries.

“You wanna cum, baby doll? “

“Yes!”

“Then what do you have to do?“

Steve’s mind has gone to mush. He thrusts his hips up, chasing after Bucky's friction. Hands struggling against the bedsheets.

“Still, omega!”

Bucky's voice is rough as sandpaper, sounding as on edge as Steve feels. A firm metal hand presses into the omega’s hip holding him in place.

“Be good, Stevie.” The alpha asserts firmly, scent growing muskier with every heavenly noise gasped and groaned from Steve’s sinful lips.

“If you wanna cum, what is it you have to do?”

Bucky rubs a metal thumb soothingly over a sinfully sharp hip bone before trailing his fingers over Steve’s quivering thigh.

Grey eyes nearly roll into the back of his head, “Fuck, baby, you’re so soft. C’mon, don’t you want me to touch you?”

“Yes! Please, fuckin touch me, you jerk!”

Chuckling darkly to himself, Bucky watches Steve with bated breath, and all at once, he feels like his mind had never left. Like an addict, he was never over his addiction; he just forgot how good it was. And like the degenerate addict he apparently was, he sucks in deep breaths, sucking in as much of Steve’s aroused scent that his lungs can handle.

All it took was one hit of Steve- his omega- and he had fallen into himself, more of who he was than any memory had offered.

Steve is his clarity and his habit. The one thing that will always bring him back because Steve is home.

And he’s gonna make him feel good. He’s gonna make up for all he put his omega through, and he’s gonna enjoy every second of it.

Every moan, every shiver, every cry. He’s gonna hold him and bruise him because Steve is his, and that’s how the omega likes it. Bucky’s omega. Bucky's Sweetheart. Bucky’s mate.

The ex-assassin lets his fingers trail lower, his other hand still just barely moving over Steve’s pulsing cock.

The first touch of cool metal meeting Steve’s hole causes the blonde to nearly jump off the bed.

“Buck!”

Steve thinks he’s gonna die.

He feels every cell in his body vibrating with a hot, hopeless sensation. Slick pours out of him the second Bucky’s teasing, perfect, godforsaken pinky circles Steve’s core. His lungs and eyes are burning, nearly out of breath, and only capable of volunteering a broken sob when that fucking pinky just barely pushes in.

“Please,” he whispers jaggedly.

He’ll be good for bucky. He’ll keep his hands at his side. He’ll do what he says even without the command, the fogginess of his brain settling deep enough that any request will register as a command anyway.

That’s just how Steve is wired.

Designed to submit to Buck’s direction.

He knows what Bucky wants, but to physically pry his eyes open at that moment was easier said than done. He struggled to determine whether or not he’s trying to starve off a quickly approaching orgasm or trying to chase one.

Whatever the answer, Bucky doesn’t let him reach it.

The alpha’s dark, whiskey voice sounds as wrecked as Steve feels.

“What. Do. I. Want?” Bucky growls impatiently. Another wave of slick dribbles from the omega wetting the sheets beneath them.

Think, steve! Give alpha what he wants! You can be good. I can be good…. What does he want again?

“My…ugh! M-My eyes.”

Finally, fucking finally, Bucky pushes a finger into Steve’s hole. Fast and absolutely delicious.

Just when he thought Bucky would stop playing games, he realizes the ringing in his ears is replaced by the alpha tutting above him.

“Very close, baby, but not quite.”, Buckys finger starts to draw out slowly; what little fullness Steve has is threatened, and the distressed mewl Steve makes in protest causes the alpha to chuckle darkly.

“P-pretty! Keep my pretty eyes on you! Only on you!” his eyes snap open frenzied, finding a swirl of grey and red zeroed in on him.

In a millisecond, Steve has two metal fingers thrusting into his hole. His back arches on the mattress, fingers nearly numb as they grip the sheets tighter, but his eyes don’t close again.

“That’s right, baby. Only on me.”

“Oh! Yes!”

“Fuck! You’re so tight, Stevie.”, Bucky groans, lowering himself as to mouth along Steve’s jaw, nipping his skin between tentative licks.

“Pl-Ease! Oh, yes... Please, Buck.”

“Please what, Stevie? Use your words.”

Steve’s mind is a simple stream of 3 thoughts, Touch me. Fuck me. Love me!; all of which he can only vocalize as, “Oh please, please. Bucky!”

Working a third finger along with the other two, Bucky hisses with Steve at the stretch his hole gives.

So fucking tight, the alpha thinks to himself, I don’t know how I’ll survive it, but I’m gonna fuck this omega so gooood.

“Words, Steve. Or I’ll start thinking you don’t want me t’touch ya at’all. Huh, maybe I should stop...”

“No! God, Buck, don’t stop, don’t ever stop!”

“Then tell me what you want. What a’you begging for, Doll?” Bucky trails the tips of his fingers over Steve’s ribs, rounding at his back, “is it my fingers? Sliding through all your slick? Or is it my mouth?”

“Yes!”

Bucky chuckles,” That’s not really an answer, Stevie.” His voice gets darker each time he says the omegas name like he knows. Actually, the bastard does know! He knows exactly what he’s doing.

The prospect of teasing seems to pull him just the tiniest bit to the side of coherent, a snarky remark falling from his lips as easily as the desperate pleas had moments before.

“You havin’ fun, Buck?” Steve pants, “Seems like you’re having a little too much fun.”

“Aw no, baby. I’m having the exact right amount of fun. Aren’t we?”

“ ‘We’ are a lotta peop-le!! Oh shit!” pushing his fingers in deeper, Bucky just brushes against Steve’s prostate. A sinister and smug smile curling his lips upward.

“Words, Stevie. Tell me what you want. And I’ll give it to you, omegamine. Just tell me.”

Steve’s chest flushes more as the words tingle on his tongue. Bucky's nearly feral tone betrays his suave and calm demeanor.

He’s just as desperate to be buried deep in Steve’s hole as Steve is to have him there.

Bucky’s fingers push more firmly against Steve’s prostate, and the omega nearly sees stars.

“Sing for me” Almost like an echo, Steve hears Buckys words like gospel.

It’s a command he’s most familiar with. He knows just what ‘ song’ Bucky wants ….

“Daddy!” Steve hisses around a fourth finger. The words punching out of him before he could stop them.

“ I wondered if that was just fantasy,” the alpha mumbles. Eyes darkening a rich crimson. An ever-present growl rumbling in his chest.

Bucky leans over, letting his fingers get even deeper, dragging against Steve’s special spot with every new thrust. With red eyes and diminishing control, the alpha drinks in every pant and whine that drips past kiss-bruised lips and bouncing off the walls of Steve’s room.

Bucky drops his nose into Steve’s scent gland, swiping his tongue over the swelling tissue for a better taste.

“You smell so fucking good, baby. Like mate.”

“Buck…” Steve gasps, feeling overwhelmed. Any moans he could possibly wish to suppress are yanked from his chest with every move the alpha makes. Sounds too rowdy even for porn echoing in his small dark room.

Bucky can’t get enough of it, stuttering an accidental thrust into Steve’s hip when the omega whines in a delightfully sweet way, the scent of slick and alluring sounds steve makes nearly choking him.

Fuck, I hope Tony has these rooms soundproofed. Steve uses his last brain cell to think.

Bucky's metal fingers continue to work him open, preparing him for his big alpha cock fast and rough and exactly how he likes it, but his other hand still moves sluggishly over Steve’s, slowly purpling prick. Tightening and stopping entirely every so often as to starve off Steve’s orgasm.

“Bucky, please!”

Fuck, Bucky thinks, I hope everybody can hear him, fuckin; hear us,

The blonde knows all he has to do is tell Bucky ‘Fuck me’ maybe add on ‘Daddy’ to further wreck him like it did back in the days if he even still likes that. But as much as Steve likes Bucky telling him what to do, he loves to defy him into aggression, twice as much.

“Say it again,” Bucky mumbles against the omegas scent gland, unable to move a millimeter.

The laugh that tumbles past Steve’s lips is quickly swallowed by Buckys tongue shoved down his throat. Pearly white teeth pulling back only to stress a bite on his bottom lip, not stopping until a faint taste of metal joins the deliriously delicious taste of Buckys omega.

“Again, omega. Say it again.”

With another brush against his prostate, Stev’s vision begins to blur, but he won’t close his eyes, no matter how much he wants them to,

“Alpha!”

Steve is a debauched disaster. A puddle of liquid fire and Bucky wanted to fucking burn.

“You know that’s not what I want to hear, babydoll. But I’m feeling generous, so let’s make a deal, yeah? You say what I want, and I’ll tell my precious boy how good he is. How good you feel around my fingers swallowin’ my fingers so fuckin’ good. And I’ll say your name as much as you want. That’s what you were beggin’ for, wasn’t it?” Bucky rambles, fingers pumping quicker into Steve, hand starving off the omegas dick, tugging over the length with dangerous precision.

“You want me to say your name, dontcha dolly? Tell you you’re being good. Everything Daddy needs. My good, beautiful Stevie.”

Buckys cock presses into the mattress, the slightest friction sending magic to tingle over his skin. His knot calls out for Steve’s sopping wet pussy, fluttering around his fingers. The sensation alone is a mutual torture all on its own.

It would be so fucking easy to slide home into Steve’s awaiting heat. So fucking easy!

Not yet, he reminds himself.

No, he wants something first, and he’s gonna get it.

Outside of the bedroom, the thought of ever using his alpha tone with Steve is unthinkable. There isn’t a scenario out there that could justify taking away his omegas free will.

But here-like this. Sweaty and drooling and filthy, reeking of mate and sex, the tone combines with his voice as if that’s the only way there is to speak.

“Say it again, Steve. Now!”

“Daddy! Daddy, fuck me! Please,pleasepleaseplease”

Gently, the alpha removed his fingers. Steve’s mouth opens to cry, but before he can focus too much on the dreadful emptiness, Bucly is buried to the hilt in Steve’s ass.

“Ah!” Steve shouts, throwing his head back and moving his hands to grip at Bucky’s shoulders for the first time since being told not to move them an inch.

He quickly realizes his mistake, and in a fearful attempt to keep Bucky inside of him, confident he wouldn’t survive another moment of his teasing, his alpha’s voice rumbles past the panic.

“Touch me. Wherever you want, Stevie.”

The sigh of relief is an afterthought, long nimble finger trail over both metal and flesh shoulders, a satisfying wave pushing into the realm of too damn good. Being allowed to touch after being denied was always such an experience. Reverse touch starved. Bucky has the go-ahead to do with him as he wishes. Meanwhile, every instinct within the omega seeks Bucky out. His skin, his mouth, his scent. He wants to feel his alpha under his fingers as much as he wants to bounce on Buckys, but he can’t. He has to lay there and fight against the urge to suck hickeys onto every surface of skin he can find.

Pulling on stands of dark chestnut-colored hair, Steve tries to adjust to the girth inside of him.

“Move.”, the omega whispers harshly after a few moments.

Bucky doesn’t need much prompting; he knows Steve can take it, and more than that, any remaining sting that prepping might have missed, Steve fucking aches for.

“As you wish.”

It’s like a dam break. A flood, unforgiving, and exactly what they each fuckin need!

Bucky's shallow, calculated thrusts soon quicken, taking on a brutal pace.

He slams his cock home and grinds deep before pulling nearly entirely out and slamming back in. Again and again and again. Returning quicker every time he finds himself back inside Steve’s velvet-soft heat.

Words are lost on the omega, choosing to indulge rather on feral groans and guttural whines, meeting every thrust and dragging sharp nails across Bucky's shoulders.

It’s all so much. Like a storm, heavy and pounding in their ears. And it all makes so much sense.

They’re a natural disaster. Bucky kisses like a hurricane, all lips, tongue, and teeth. Steve moves and squeezes his walls around Bucky's cock, no rhyme or reason to his actions, just passion, just I have to have this.

Kisses pouring down upon kisses like rain, soaking them in love, and Steve nearly cries.

He never thought he’d have this again.

The ex-assassin is a bit more vocal.

He can feel his release creeping up, desire warm and urgent low in his belly. But cumming before Steve is absolutely not an option. Half the fun was watching the poster child for purity throw his head back in ecstasy, beggin for ruin with Buckys name on his lips. And he’d be damned if he's gonna miss it in the cloud of his own pleasure.

“D-Deeper!” Steve whimpers, pulling Bucky closer by the nape of his neck.

The hand that had been knotted in Steve’s own hair follows suit of the palm firmly placed over one sharp hip bone.

Gripping him with enough pressure to bruise, Bucky bends over Steve’s lithe build and takes hold of one muscular thigh, nearly folding the blonde in half as he settles Steve’s leg over his flesh shoulder.

“Fuck!” Steve cries, Bucky's cock sliding that much deeper, hitting his prostate with nearly every thrust.

Bucky groans at the new position, one large hand kneading and pulling at Steve's ass, tugging him back with the snap of his hips. His other hand runs over the omegas sweaty, slick body, sliding a finger over a single hard nipple before securing his fingers around Steve’s neck. Palm pushing into his scent gland.

It is a little more than light pressure, but it gives its desired effect; Steve’s eyes go from unfocused and glassy to piercing. More black than blue, pupils blown, but Bucky still catches the glint of gold mingling about, exactly what he’d been waiting for.

There you are, omegamine, he thinks.

“Ugh, yes, fuck! You like that, don’t you. Like me pushing you down. Like me pounding into your sweet pussy. But it’s not really yours is it, baby?”

“Gnnn”

“Answer me. Who’s pussy is this, Steve?”

“Y-yours, Daddy. I’m yours.”

“Mine.” The alpha growls, yet another wave of slick passing Steve’s thighs. “My omega. My good boy. Listened so good, doll.”

“Fuck, Buck. Alpha, my alpha. I missed you, I missed you so fuking much. I missed your big alpha cock. So good to me. I wanna be good, Daddy. Tell me how to be good.”

“You wanna be good?”

“Yes!”

“You’re already so good for me. Perfect omega. Pretty, perfect thing.”

“I can be-ugh yes!! I can...nnnn….be better.” The omega stutters between kisses, “Wanna be the best boy.”

“Yeah?”

“Please, Alpha. Knot me!”

“Okay, baby. Listen closely, hmm?”

“Keep still.” In two mostly smooth movements, Bucky is lying on his back, Steve’s lean frame now straddling the alpha, lifting him by the waist; Bucky sinks Steve further on his cock.

“Ride me.”

As if without his permission, Steve’s moving above the bigger man.

Thick thighs feel even wider between Steve’s slightly smaller ones. Bucky’s hands come to Steve’s waist, helping him grind down harder, deeper.

Steve can’t keep his gaze from trailing down to where they’re connected. His hole swallowing 6 to 7 inches of monster alpha cock, and he could just cry for how hot it is to see them connected like this.

I wanna be locked to you. I want your knot!

“Eyes, Stevie!” Bucky snarls with another hash snap of his hips, impaling Steve further and hitting his prostate. The omega falls over, making sure to lock blue with grey.

Abandoning their vice grip on the alphas thighs, Steve steadies himself with one hand over his lover's heart, fingertips brushing the mating gland by his neck as the other grips the headboard above the bed, wood splintering under every shock of pleasure jolting through Steve in response to each of Bucky's strident thrusts.

“Oh, oh! D-Daddy. I’m gonna, I’m gonna cum!”

“Now that I’ve got you back, we won’t be leaving this room for much, Stevie. I want you on your knees sucking my big alpha cock. Licking up the evidence of what you do to me. I’ll hold you by your neck and force-feed it to you just like you like it.”

“B-Buck-eyy!”

“Yeah, baby, say my name. You’re beautiful. Angelic. A work of. Fucking. Art.” He punctuates his words with a sharp jerking of Steve’s body above him. Pulling his center as close as he can get him, knot swelling mercilessly and snagging on Steve’s rim.

Steve feels pleasure like he’s never felt before. Words slurred and hardly coherent,

“‘Wan’ yur k’nnot!”

He sounds drunk.

Bucky loves it!

“Not until you cum, baby doll. You first, then Daddy. Good boys get their rewards, and this is-” using Steve as a ragdoll, Bucky manhandles him into circular motions, twisting and penetrating the omegas sweet spot with wild precision.

One hand (Steve couldn’t even tell you which, mind too fuzzy and too loaded with his quickly approaching orgasm) presses into the omegas gorgeous tits before sweeping down to tug on Steve’s crying cock, pre-cum dribbling from its bright red head.

Steve cums with a shout, back arching and eyes struggling to stay open, finally shut. His vision whites out with pleasure, but he can’t bring himself to remember anything outside of this bliss. No world lived outside of these walls. Just him, his alpha, and all the pleasure Bucky brings him.

“Ohhh, Allphaa,”

“Yours. Yes! Oh, you feel- God so fucking tight, Stevie. Look ‘atchyou. Milking my cock, pussy squeezing my knot, beggin for it. Daddy’s gonna give it to you.”

“Gimme,” he whispers weakly.

He doesn’t feel Bucky flip him over or the hands pushing both his legs over Bucky’s shoulders, but the moment Bucky starts pumping in and out again, his body jolts awake, and all Steve wants is to make his alpha cum.

“Daddy’s gonna cum right inside your tight, perfect pussy. Yeah, Stevie. ugh!”

“Wan’ be...hmm.”, he tries to form words, but they die on his tongue, not coming down fast enough to entertain even a murmur of conversation.

Another 30 seconds passing before he has enough brain cells to return his gaze to stormy grey.

As always, Bucky’s eyes are already on him.

“That's all you got, Daddy?” The blonde snarks between pants, another orgasm building in his belly, toes curling, and his half-soft prick smushed and pulsating against Bucky's abs.

Bucky laughs around a moan, pulling Steve into another kiss before giving one, two, three more thrusts, shouting out a string of praise as his knot pops inside of his omega.

Steve’s heavy punched out sigh joins the shuddered fluttering of his hole, another wave of release escaping him.

The room fills with pants and sloppy kisses. Each man nosing along their scent glands, finding where a bond mark would go and lapping over it lovingly.

In the 40s, hiding their love was a matter of survival, and a surrender of their need to properly mate. They didn’t have to hide here. They could love each other and bite each other someday. Unified in the one way they spent most of their lives thinking they’d never have.

They Lie there, tied together even after Bucky’s knot goes down. Thoughts of taking that step-marking each other, on the tip of both of their tongues.

They lie there, bathing in the calm after the storm.

Sometime afterward:

After another round and many minutes of lazily making out, the pair rest beside each other, touching the other man wherever he could reach, tracing nonsense patterns into heated flesh and feeling happier than either had in 70 years.

“What were you sayin’, y’know before we… Y’know”, Steve blushes as if he wasn’t just face down ass up drooling over Tony’s Egyptian cotton sheets.

“Before you started crying for my knot, and I fucked you 6 ways from Sunday?”

“You’re a fucking jerk!”

“Nah, I’m just fucking a jerk.”, The alpha smiles, joy like nothing he’s been able to remember trips over his heart.

“I’m serious, Buck. Before we...did it”

“Ha!”

A sharp smack falls onto Buckys bare chest, “Fine! Before you came like a geyser up my ass-”

“Steve!” Bucky barks a laugh, loving the pink blush dusting over Steve’s cheeks despite the faux aggravation he was attempting to express.

“Will ya quit interrupting me? You fucking alphas are so rude!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, Stevie. What were you saying?” Bucky concedes, the shit-eating grin doing nothing for the butterflies swarming the omega’s insides.

“You were saying that you couldn’t decipher real from what’s fake?”

Sighing, Bucky cards his fingers through Steve’s hair, not stopping, when the omega turns onto his stomach, exposing his back and facing the brunette. Bucky smiles down at the omega letting his hand slide down to his spine, tracing the smooth pale skin with the tip of his finger.

It’s freeing, liberating even, to let his hands and eyes roam wherever they want. After so many years of separation, then being reunited only to build unnecessary obstacles designed for the sole purpose of self-sabotaging, somehow they’ve found themselves again in the other man’s arms.

Bucky bends down to press a gentle kiss on Steve’s shoulder, loving the way the omega shivers beneath his lips.

I could just eat him alive…

“Buuuuck,” Steve shakes his head, smiling at the alpha underneath long lashes.

“Sorry, baby, you just look so sexy.”

“Oh, do I? Maybe it has a little to do with all the naked skin?”

Smiling goofily, Bucky allows his voice to get al sweet, “C’mere, smartass.”

Bucky pulls a yelping Steve into his lap, effectively laying the slender omega over his broad alpha chest.

The feeling is exhilarating. Bucky feels his stomach swoop and heart skip a beat, feeling more accomplished in this solitary moment entangled with Steve than in months of SHIELD work.

Steve grins despite himself. Settling against Bucky's chest, folding his hands in front of him and resting his chin onto his knuckles. Suddenly thrilled by the position.

He can stare into Bucky's eyes forever, and he has a sneaking suspicion the alpha won’t protest.

Cold metal fingers trail down Steve’s spine, eliciting a gentle quiver from the blonde man, shamelessly beaming beneath the attention.

“I remember how scared I would get in the winter.”

Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion, lying his head down onto his forearms and urging the larger man with his eyes to continue.

“I love that I can make you shiver now. But I think it would’ve just about wrecked me with worry back then.”

Bucky's flesh hand curls across Steve’s exposed waist, letting his heat seal into his fingers. His eyes close in relief. Like he’s remembered something… or rather; reminded himself of something.

“ I remember the worry best. The sleepless nights and evenings spent bent over pews, praying no one could hear your name falling from my lips because then they’d know… Know how much I wanted you. Wanted you to live. Wanted you to love me. Wanted you to be my omega. I remember going to work at the docks and feeling the bike rise in my throat as we talked about chasing tail when all that I fucking wanted was to make it through my shift and run my way home to you.”

Steve smiles fondly at Bucky. His head remains rested in the crook of his right elbow but reaches forward with his left to trail patterns on Bucky’s scent gland. Trailing back from his neck to his cheek, he will never understand how helpful he is just by existing.

“ I remember wanting you. I know there has never been a moment in which I existed, and I didn’t love you, even under hydra. Even when they told me- made me go after you. They had to wipe me twice before I stopped fighting… I should’ve kept fighting.”

“Buck-“ Steve’s tone is soft and reprimanding in the way only Steve Rogers could manage, but it’s not enough. The tears build behind grey and crimson. Shame burning him from the inside.

Bucky shakes his head, trying to shake away Steve’s tender touch.

Leaning forward, Steve ignores the alphas dismissal, warm petal-soft lips find Buckys, and he presses his weight deeper into his alpha.

“I’m here. With you. You stopped, Buck. You never, not for a second, stopped fighting! That wasn’t you.” Steve’s tone was loving and firm in the way only Steve Rogers could ever manage- or could ever feel for Bucky Barnes.

Bucky's eyes find crystal blue, and for a moment, he’s thrust back into his mind, his heart thrashing and growling, crying Not him! Not Steve. Stop! God damn it! You’re hurting him! We can’t hurt him!

For a moment, Steve’s sweet pink cheeks are bruised and bleeding, split by Russian metal and the free will Bucky was robbed of.

“Bucky!” Steve whispers harshly, just on the edge of frantic, “ C’mon, alpha. Don’t leave me alone again.”

“I’m here.”, Bucky chokes out, “ I’m here, baby. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

They hold each other for, neither of them speaking. Foreheads pressed together between grabby hands pushing firmly against heated flesh.

A reminder…

I’m alive. You’re okay. We’re together.

“ I remember those things; that panic of possibly losing you, very easily,” Bucky continues, “ And then… it started as flashes. Split seconds. But god, did I chase after them. It would be something minimal at first. You lying down on the bed or smiling at me over a sketchbook. But then they changed, and your head was thrown back, and the things you were drawing were us-naked. And I started hating myself because my fucking crush on you was filtering in on my memories of you, and it wasn’t fair. It felt real, but I knew it wasn’t or-“

“But they are real, Buck. We’ve always been us. This way! Laws be damned! We loved each other, and no one was gonna tell us we couldn’t have that!”

“It didn’t matter, though,” Bucky adds.

Steve shoots up off his chest, kneeling on the mattress, and as naked as the day he was born. More hurt than he thought he could ever be in his alphas arms, “ Of course it did. How could you say that? Wha-”

Bucky sits up quickly, reaching out, but Steve swiftly evades him, feeling colder than Brooklyn in February.

“Steve-“

“No! How could you say that? It matters! We matter. You matter. I fucking matter, Bucky! I lost you. You died! You fell off that train, and my alpha died!” he cries,

“I flew that plane into the ocean not because Captain America’s nobility prevails, I did it because l was grieving and life wasn’t worth living without you.”

“Steve-“

“No! Shut. Up.” Steve growls, but it sounds more like a whine.

“I died too, Buck. And woke up to a life I didn’t want either. Not just like you. I know what you went through was unthinkably cruel. But living without you was a prison sentence. And I had no choice but to wear red, white, and blue in place of orange and serve out my life miserably and without you. And that mattered.”

“I know, Stevie, I know. I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant, baby.”

“Then how else did you mean it?”

“There were things that I saw or remembered-whatever! But neither matter because fantasy is something that can never happen, and if it’s a memory, it will never happen again.”

Steve can feel his heart breaking in his chest. Angry and more than a little offended, he can practically feel the anguish emanating from his alpha’s skin.

“Because you wouldn’t want the blood-soaked into my hands to touch you. To touch your pretty perfect body, so I say your name, and I can’t stop because my alpha is always just before feral, and you are the only thing keeping Me on the side of sane. I know you matter. You’re the only thing on this entire fucked up bullshit infested planet that matters!”

“But the thought of losing you based on things I simply wanted and not what you needed from me? It didn’t matter- nothing mattered beyond you. I thought you wanted Bucky Barnes, the closeted best friend. I couldn’t trust myself to believe you wanted me in the 40s, and I couldn’t hope that if you had, you’d want me still.”

“You’re an idiot,” Steve sighs, eyes misting, but he lets himself be drawn in by strong, vulnerable arms.

“...I think I understand what you mean, though.”

“Yeah?”

“I wanted to say I miss you ao many times. But then I just...couldn’t. I thought it wouldn’t change anything, so I just kept pretending I didn’t. But then there are days when I wake up, and the fact that it’s without you won’t let me pretend anymore.”

“Now, who’s the idiot?” Bucky chuckles, brushing strands of hair from those hypnotizing blue eyes.

Bucky lets the Sympathy, understanding pool from his scent and settle over Steve like a warm blanket.

Smiling, Steve takes the comfort from his alpha in stride, “Of course, I talk like an idiot, Buck. How else are you ‘posed to understand me?”

Huffing a quick laugh, the ex-assassin feels all the love for this omega shine in a smile, “You’re such a fuckin’ punk, y’know that little omega?”

“ I’m your fuckin’ Punk, and besides, I’m not so little anymore.”

Whatever faithless semblance of decency they had left swiftly deteriorates as Bucky fully settles Steve into his lap, lying back into the cushions and pulling the duvet over them both.

He presses a soft kiss on Steve’s forehead and whispers with as much meaning he can muster, “You’re perfect, omegamine. Fuckin’ perfect! Perfect for me, you hear?”

Steve releases a joyful giggle,” I hear. Are we going to sleep, Alpha?”

“Yep!”

Snuggling deeper into the alpha’s chest, Steve feels content for the first time in what feels like forever, loving how perfectly he still fits in Bucky's arms, even all beefed up by the serum. Not a single gap between them.

“You comfortable, sweetheart?” Bucky asks happily. Certainly hearing and feeling Steve’s pleased purring.

“ I’m warm,” The omega mumbles, exhaustion barreling into him.

“Good. Sleep, Stevie. We'll talk more in the morning.”

Steve doesn’t respond, just nuzzles into his alpha more until his nose is close enough to the source of the brunette’s scent, humming satisfaction as he sniffs pleasantly.

“I never thought I’d get to have this. That you’d be in my arms like this. I thought I’d spend the rest of my life just pining after you-loving you. I love you, omegamine. I love you so much.”

Steve replies in soft snores, but Bucky doesn’t care. He presses a kiss to the top of ruffled blonde hair and falls asleep with a smile on his face.

He doesn't mind that Steve fell asleep because nothing else matters besides his blue-eyed beauty. Not when he has this. Not when Steve is soft and asleep and warm. He has the rest of his life to tell his omega he loves him.

One thing is for sure.

Bucky will never stop saying Steve’s name.

[iam93percentstardust]

For the birthday prompt: [Winteriron or Stuckony] Omega Tony soothing Alpha Bucky after a panic attack/nightmare shortly after they get him back to the Tower/Compound. Maybe a little bit of the team being overprotective on the omega genius and had been keeping him away from the "dangerous" and traumatized alpha assassin. But in the end, Tony just struts in like it's nothing and Bucky just f'ing melts to do whatever Tony says (in a sweet way, not a creepy one). Please?

Tumblr is doing weird things with the asks so if this doesn’t work, bear with me and I’ll post the story in the notes.

This story got a little bit (okay, maybe more than a little bit) away from me so I hope this is still what you were hoping for! I went the Stuckony route here and I’m also headcanoning that after a few years of dating Steve, Tony has mostly gotten over his emotional constipation.

As always, everything I write is on ao3 but tumblr doesn’t like links so I’m not including that

~

The first time Tony sees Bucky Barnes, it’s through a screen.

It’s the first real lead they’ve had in months, since the flurry of sightings immediately following SHIELD’s collapse. The team had sent Natasha and Clint to check it out. They’re both betas, and Nat’s ability to control the calming pheromones all betas let off gives them an edge over an alpha they suspect is on the verge of going feral.

He’s not on the verge, Tony realizes when he sees Barnes on the screen for the first time. He is feral.

Eyes clearly gone red, clear even through the low saturation of the screen, baring his fangs at Natasha and Clint as they cautiously approach, growling so fiercely that the other people in the market are giving him a wide berth as they peer at him fearfully from under their lashes—Bucky has been pushed past the point of breaking into ferality. It’s not surprising. Their entire world crashing down—literally, in this instance—would be a lot for any alpha to handle, but for one trying to deal with seventy years of brainwashing and amnesia? Yeah, Tony’s not surprised.

There’s something slightly terrifying about it. Alphas going feral is supposed to be a nightmare story, something you tell children about at night to scare them into being good. It’s not supposed to be something you see in a crowded marketplace. And when Tony thinks about how easy it would be for something to go wrong, if they’d sent someone other than Nat or Clint—like Steve who had wanted so badly to be the one to bring his friend in or even Tony with his omega pheromones evolved to tempt alphas into paying attention to him and only him—he shudders.

But—there’s something almost piteous about it too. It’s clear that Bucky is terrified beneath his snarling veneer, clear that he doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, and something in Tony’s heart shifts the same as it had the first time he saw Steve.

Something thrums deep inside him to the tune of mine.

“I can help,” he says.

Beneath him, Steve shifts uneasily, saying, “Tony—”

“I want to,” he interrupts. He turns, Steve’s arm sliding from his stomach to his hip, and rests his head on Steve’s shoulder, watching Nat raise her hands placatingly out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve had six months to get used to—everything. It wasn’t his fault, I know that, and—and you still love him, Steve, I know you do.”

“I love you,” Steve says, which isn’t really much of an argument.

“I know.” He smiles when Steve rolls his eyes at the well-worn response. “But you love him too. And… he feels like you did when we first met.”

He can feel Steve tense, and he tucks his head deeper into the crook of Steve’s neck, purring quietly to force him to calm. He knows his alpha is only worried about his safety. Bucky isn’t the same person he once was and even if Steve still has feelings for him, it’s only instinct to be worried about the omega he’s also in love with. But he doesn’t need to be worried. Tony is more than capable of taking care of himself and his own instincts are screaming that Bucky won’t hurt him, that Bucky is his. Only once Steve is fully relaxed again does he continue, “Please, Steve. I want to help. I want to know him better and I want to know if what I’m feeling about him is real. Let me?”

Steve sighs but Tony feels his lips curve upwards where they’re pressed against his hair. “I don’t let you do anything.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

~

Bucky is still feral by the time he, Nat, and Clint return to the tower, but it’s tinged now with panic. Tony can smell the sour scent it all the way from where he and the rest of the team are waiting in the kitchen and Bucky’s still outside. He’s not sure if that says something about his strength as an alpha or the depths of his panic, but either way, it’s not good. He glances again at the screen where he can see Natasha trying to calm Bucky down enough to get him to enter the building—the windows blacked out so that Bucky doesn’t panic further at the sight of the team just inside the landing pad—but it’s no dice.

“I’m going out there,” he announces.

It’s meant to just let everyone know that he’s going, but everyone else seems to take it as an invitation to stop him. The noise in the kitchen swings up into an uproar. Even Steve, who knows that he has every intention of helping, has tucked him up against his side, keeping him from taking a single step out of the kitchen.

“He’s dangerous,” Bruce argues once the initial noise has died down a little. It’s telling that Steve doesn’t immediately argue with him the way he normally does when someone says something bad about Bucky.

“We’re all dangerous,” Tony shoots back, ineffectually trying to wriggle his way out of Steve’s arms. “I’m dangerous and biology practically dictates that my orientation is about as dangerous as a bunny rabbit.”

Steve, who has been on the receiving end of Tony’s intense heats, snorts.

“Look,” he continues, “Nat’s not having any luck getting him to calm down enough to come inside and right now I’m really worried he’s going to either steal the Quinjet and take off or jump off the tower and take off. Either option comes with a lot of paperwork that I have to sign so I’d prefer it if he just came inside so why can’t I try? We can’t send another alpha out there, he’ll take that as a sign of aggression, and we can’t send Sam. The last time Bucky met him, he kicked him off a helicarrier. So that means we’re down to me. Sucks that it’s me but I’m our best option.”

“If he hurts you—” Steve begins.

“He won’t,” Tony says softly and turns so he can nose at Steve’s scent glands. “You won’t let him. I know you’ll be right there, ready if something goes wrong.”

Steve clearly still doesn’t want to let him go out there but his arms loosen enough for Tony to slip away. He smiles at the others, hiding his own nerves beneath a façade of self-confidence that he absolutely doesn’t feel. It’s not like any of them are wrong: feral alphas are dangerous, and this one is more dangerous than most. But he’s not wrong either: Bucky is in more danger the longer he stays out there. Hydra is searching for him and it was sheer luck that the Avengers found him first. But he doesn’t know how long that luck will hold, so the quicker they can bring him in out of the cold, the happier he’ll be.

He straightens his shirt and steps outside, ignoring the way the rest of the team trails him to the door. Bucky’s red eyes snap instantly to him. It’s unsettling, a little terrifying, and Tony has to stop himself from reaching for his sunglasses or from jamming his hands in his pockets. Instead, he holds himself loose and open, hands at his side and palms open so Bucky doesn’t think he’s hiding a weapon in his fists.

“Tony, what do you think you’re doing?” Clint murmurs, alerted to his presence by the sound of the door closing. Natasha is still concentrating on Bucky, trying to soothe him. Even from where he’s standing, he can feel her pheromones washing calm over him and he revises his plan to include her. He’s never felt this kind of strength from her before but he’d be an idiot not to use it.

“It’s okay,” he says, keeping his eyes fixed on Bucky, who’s growling lowly now. “Go back inside, Natasha and I have got this.”

“Can’t do that,” Clint says. “Steve would have my head if—”

“Steve’s my backup. He’s right inside. Go inside; I can’t calm Bucky down if he’s worrying about you.”

“But—”

“Please.”

He thinks it’s the please that does it. By now, the team knows that the whole Tony Stark doesn’t use social niceties thing is bullshit but he still spends so much time in the workshop, and so much time teasing the others when he’s not working, that it’s still an indicator that he’s completely serious about something.

Clint doesn’t waste time asking any other questions. He, more than anyone else on the team except for Steve, knows better than to underestimate people and question them when they’re confident. And Tony is about as confident as he can be. There are ways that this can go wrong, absolutely, but they’re running out of options and what he’s about to try is something that’s been scientifically proven to be effective.

He doesn’t watch Clint go, though Bucky does, only to snap his gaze right back to Tony as soon as Tony takes a step forward. He places a hand on Natasha’s shoulder as he passes her, murmurs into her ear too low for even supersoldiers to hear, “Keep up the good work. You’re helping,” and comes to a stop within armlength of Bucky, knowing that Bucky could easily reach out and hurt him if he wanted to.

It seems to throw Bucky off, who blinks at him. Tony smiles at him and reaches up to his neck, loosening the scent blocker just enough to dilute the bonded scent pouring off of him and allow his own to filter in.

Bucky blinks again. “Omega,” he says eventually, voice rusty with disuse.

Tony smiles again. “That’s right.”

“And… Stevie?” Bucky guesses. In that moment, he sounds so young that it makes Tony’s heart break. Bucky had his future stolen away from him just the same as Steve did. He can’t fully regret that because it brought them both to him, but he knows how much pain and healing Steve had had to go through after waking up in this century and he knows what Bucky will still have to do, and he hurts for them.

“Steve’s my alpha,” he says. “Do you remember Steve?”

Bucky hesitates and then slowly nods. The red is slowly starting to recede from his eyes—though Tony isn’t sure that has anything to do with what he’s doing or if it’s just because he’s managing to baffle the alpha—and then Natasha shifts. It’s nothing more than a twitch of her leg but Bucky instantly notices it.

Before Tony realizes it, Bucky has snatched him to him, tucked him behind the mass that makes up Bucky’s body, and is snarling at Natasha, eyes scarlet red again. Just barely, he sees the door start to open and if it does, if the team comes out of it ready to fight, they’ll lose Bucky.

“No!” he shouts, startling Bucky. It’s enough though. The door pauses. Tony can see Steve through the crack, looking terrified, but he isn’t hurt. He’s okay. Bucky hasn’t done anything other than seemingly try to protect him.

He darts in front of Bucky again, wraps his arms around his shoulders, and tugs him down to his neck, tucking his face into the loosened scent blocker so he can inhale both Steve and Tony.

“Settle,” he commands. It’s usually a command an alpha uses for their omega but there’s precedence of omegas using it too. He draws on every ounce of strength he typically reserves for the boardroom and pushes it into his voice, ordering him again when Bucky lets out an answering growl.

It takes a moment but Bucky suddenly melts, going limp and boneless against him. Tony’s only half-expecting it; the alpha’s weight takes him by surprise and they sink to the ground, Bucky taking in huge gasping breaths as he breathes in their combined scents.

“Oh my darling,” Tony whispers, hands coming up to stroke through Bucky’s hair. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

~

Without quite meaning to, Bucky ends up moving into the guest room on his and Steve’s floor. Tony means to put Bucky on his own floor but then Bucky spends the afternoon following him docilely around the common areas, as sweet now as he was feral a few hours earlier. The others still seem a little wary but as time passes and it becomes obvious that Tony is in fact doing some good, they start to relax. By the time they’d be heading up to bed, Bucky is stretched out on the couch, head on Tony’s lap and feet tucked under Steve’s legs, as the team watches a movie.

“I think he’s imprinted on you,” Clint observes dryly as he heads for the elevator. “Like a duck.”

Tony doesn’t look up from where he’s carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair but he feels the alpha tense. “That’s okay, darling,” he comments idly. “I’m pretty sure Steve and I imprinted on each other once we started living together too.”

Natasha groans. “Don’t remind me. It was like watching a Disney movie without the singing animals.”

“Disney movie?” Bucky asks, voice muffled by Tony’s thigh.

“I’ll show you,” Tony assures him.

The rest of the team starts slowly filtering out until it’s just the three of them. Tony and Steve exchange a look over Bucky’s head, not needing to communicate with words after the years they’ve spent together. They’re both concerned about where Bucky will sleep tonight. With a quick glance toward Bucky and a tilt of his eyebrows, Steve tells him that he would be more than happy with Bucky staying with them, but he’ll leave the decision up to Tony. No one likes the scent of a distressed omega after all, and the easiest way to end up with a distressed omega is by inviting someone into their space that they don’t want there.

Fortunately, Tony would be more than happy with Bucky there. He hadn’t been joking when he’d said that one look at Bucky and it had felt like they were meant for each other, just as it had felt with Steve—and, he suspected, just as it had felt with Steve and Bucky, even if they’d never made a move.

But he wants the choice to be Bucky’s, so he gently lifts his hands away from Bucky’s hair and asks, “Bucky? Do you want to have your own floor? We’ve got a few extras for when we expand the roster. Or you could stay on our floor, if you’d prefer?”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate to say, “With you.”

He knows Bucky doesn’t mean it the way he wants, doesn’t mean that he’ll join them in their bed, but maybe… Maybe someday, once Bucky is better (he isn’t so naïve as to think this is the end of it; he only has to look at his own history with backsliding after Afghanistan and Stane and the palladium reactor to know that) and if he and Steve can figure out the right words to invite someone into a triad bond…

Well. Maybe someday.

~

He wakes up in the middle of the night to Steve gently shaking his shoulder. “Waz wrong?” he mumbles, blearily rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Did I have a nightmare?”

“No, sweetheart,” Steve whispers, leaning over to kiss his bare shoulder. “Bucky wanted to know if he could join us. Said he was worried about Hydra.” He doesn’t say if Bucky was worried about Hydra taking him away or someone else, Tony or Steve, he notes, but the answer is the same either way.

“’Course he can, long as he’s not a blanket hog.”

He fully expects Bucky to climb in on Steve’s other side. It only makes sense: the two grew up together so of course, Steve would be the middle in this instance. Instead, Steve tugs Tony closer to him so that he’s spooning up behind him, and Bucky crawls under the blankets so that he’s facing Tony, looking more relaxed as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Huh. Maybe there’s something to what Clint was saying about Bucky imprinting on him. He would be more worried, but alphas don’t imprint on someone unless they feel safe with them, unless there’s the beginning stirrings of a mating bond in the back of their mind, even though a full bond takes time, communication, and love to develop. Considering that Tony’s pretty sure he’s imprinted on Bucky the same way, he really isn’t that concerned about Bucky’s feelings.

Still though, he makes a note to sit down and talk with Bucky eventually about how they can’t just rush into this. They’ve all been through too much to immediately strike up a relationship. Bucky isn’t in the right mental state at the moment. And as for Tony, he wants to make sure they’re all on the same page and that Bucky won’t regret this two years down the line. Hell, he’s still uncertain that Steve won’t regret this at some point, so he definitely wants to know that Bucky’s sure of his feelings.

But that’s a problem for tomorrow-Tony, he decides. Tonight, he’s going to snuggle into his alpha’s warmth and enjoy having Bucky close by instead of somewhere out in the world where Tony can’t keep him safe.

~

The next day is weirder. Not in a bad way! Just—here: when Tony finally drags himself away from the warm spots in the bed that his mates (not his mates; his mate and his mate’s best friend… who might one day be his mate), makes his way into the kitchen, and sleepily grumbles, “Coffee,” there are suddenly two steaming mugs in front of him, one from Steve and one from—someone else. He raises his eyes slowly to where Bucky is watching him with hopeful eyes. That answers that question then.

“Uh, thanks, Snowflake,” he says and takes a cautious sip out of the one Bucky put down. It’s not that he thinks it’s poisoned. It’s just that Bucky has been here for less than twenty-four hours, there’s no way that he know how exacting Tony can be about his coffee, how particular—how—how…

Huh. This is pretty damn perfect actually.

He takes another, larger sip and then looks at where Steve is busy making breakfast for the three of them. Steve watches him with an amused look in his eyes. Tony knows Steve isn’t concerned about someone else preparing his coffee—Bruce has done it plenty of times and whenever Rhodey’s in town, he insists that he’s the only one who can make Tony’s coffee—he’s just enjoying watching the two of them together.

He thinks about the nights he used to wake from a dead sleep to the sound of Steve weeping over Bucky, about the concerns he used to share with Tony that Bucky wouldn’t want to stay with them or would want to leave. He wonders now how much of that was fear that Tony wouldn’t want Bucky to stay because he wouldn’t be able to stomach housing the person Hydra used to kill his parents. Silly alpha, he thinks fondly. As though Tony wouldn’t love anyone Steve loves.

At least that’s a fear he can put to rest.

Gulping down half his coffee in one go, he leans back in his chair and casually says, “Steve, you’re fired. Pack your things and go. I’m keeping this one. His coffee is lightyears ahead of yours.”

Steve bursts out laughing and crosses the kitchen to pull him up and kiss him soundly. Tony purrs into the kiss, answered with a low rumble from Steve and then, so low he almost misses it—another rumble from Bucky. He smiles triumphantly and pulls away with another kiss, hands resting on Steve’s broad chest.

“Better finish up that breakfast, soldier,” he says teasingly. “Got things to do today in the workshop and I need my alpha down there to stand around and look pretty. You too, Bucky Babe,” he calls over his shoulder. “Universe gave me two supersoldiers, be a shame not to take advantage of that.”

He doesn’t know what Bucky looks like but the kitchen suddenly scents like contended alpha, and he knows it’s not Steve’s scent because he knows Steve’s scent as well as he knows his own. He smiles again, nuzzles deeper into Steve’s chest and hums happily.

It’s not perfect yet, he thinks, but soon—soon it will be.

~

Tony was right that first day—it takes time, months really. Time for Bucky to backslide and Steve to backslide and Tony to back-shimmy because he doesn’t do anything as gauche as slide. It takes months of therapy, days of consultation with the world’s top experts on how to remove the brainwashing and programming from Bucky’s brain, hours of working together in the workshop on Bucky’s arm as Tony comes up with improvement after improvement.

It’s countless bad nights where Bucky wakes up in a nightmare and reaches to strangle Steve—never Tony, never his omega, but always his best friend—and countless bad days afterward trying to convince him to come back to their bed. It’s figuring out how to work around the myriad of triggers all three of them have and sometimes it doesn’t work. Sometimes Bucky doesn’t realize that Tony can’t handle baths anymore. Sometimes Steve doesn’t notice that Bucky’s afraid of heights. Sometimes Tony misses that it’s the anniversary of Bucky falling from the train.

It’s bad sometimes.

But it’s good sometimes too.

It’s figuring out how they curl around each other in bed and waking up warm and rested. It’s feeding each other by hand in the morning when they’re too tired to bother with silverware. It’s cups of coffee and donuts with sprinkles and warm hugs. It’s Bucky resting his head on Tony’s lap and tucking his feet under Steve’s legs during movie nights.

It’s Tony and Steve dancing together around the kitchen island as Bucky cooks, watching them fondly. It’s Bucky crooning old songs from the 40s when Steve’s on a mission and Tony can’t sleep without his alpha. It’s Steve and Bucky spending hours walking the streets of Brooklyn, reminiscing about growing up together.

It’s love, blooming slowly but surely for everyone to see.

And when one night as Tony is changing out of the charcoal suit he’d worn for the board meeting that day and into his pajamas and Bucky stops him with a hoarsely whispered, “Doll,” he smiles and guides Bucky’s hand to his waist.

“It’s okay, darling” he murmurs. “You can.”

Bucky’s kiss, when it comes, feels like coming home.

[stony-ao3-feed]

Crawling on Your Shores

Read it on AO3

by Mireille

Compared to the last time Tony was trapped in a cave, this should be a piece of cake.

It's really not. His armor is damaged, he doesn't have anything to work with, and he has an unconscious supersoldier on his hands.

It's definitely not a piece of cake.

Words: 9600, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers

Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark

Additional Tags: Cap_Ironman Reverse Bang Challenge, Caves, Stranded, Confessions, Hurt Steve Rogers, Panic Attacks

Read it on AO3